Five Years
by AnneStan86
Summary: Five years is what it took for his life to change. Five years is all it took for her to fall. *Recently Updated 08/23/2014*
1. Prologue

**Five Years**

_Disclaimer: _I do not own any part of Degrassi and make no profit from the following story.

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><p><em><strong>Prologue<strong>_

Five years…it doesn't sound like a long stretch of time until it's broken down. Five years is a total of sixty months. Five years is filled with eighteen hundred twenty-five days and contains forty-three thousand eight hundred hours. Times the amount of hours by sixty and the total of minutes is over two point five million. It's amazing that something as simple as five years can get so complicated with a little multiplication.

I like to think of five years as the amount of time that it took for my life to shift a hundred and eighty degrees on its axis. I was the man of few words, the partier and the guy who slept with a long line of women but never more than a handful of times. I was the guy who hated the world because my dreams never turned out quite like I wanted and I had found myself immersed a job that I viewed was going nowhere. I lived for a good time and I never gave a damn about the consequences. If I screwed up a promotion or hurt some girl that I couldn't remember the name of after I had my fun, it was fine because that was just the story of my life.

That was until she waltzed back into my life.

I had known her in high school and at the time, what she knew of me was less than good. I was the bully, the guy who tormented her and her friends for not fitting into the status quo. I was the guy who had the tendency to take the fact that my brother wasn't what I wanted him to be out on the rest of the world, causing the world to view me as a homophobic asshole. I was, in short, everything she was against and everything she hated all rolled up into one package.

She, on the other hand, was no less than a saint. She accepting everyone for who they were no matter if they met her expectations or what she believed should fit into a specific mold. She was never without a smile for a stranger, a kind word for an acquaintance or a hug for a friend who needed it. She was all that my teenage boy desired off and on and completely out of my league in every which way. And my knowledge of this made me act in ways that I regret now.

However, the different paths that we were on drew my focus away from her and I guess that I began to forget she existed. There were times when I would see her in the hallways and my old self would briefly resurface, times when I would have to remember that I had changed my image from idiotic bully to well-rounded jock. She would be laughing with friends or digging through her lock and I would have to bite my lip to keep the sarcastic comment from escaping. But those times were few and far between and soon, she became just a memory that skirted around the edges of my mind.

After graduation, I rarely ever heard about the girl and I doubt she ever heard about me or desired knowing anything about me. In fact, all I knew about her time after Degrassi was that she had turned down the proposal received at her graduation and had gone on to be as much an academic star at her university that she had been in high school.

Although I would hear various things about her through the grapevine that was our shared friends, I had not seen her since we departed ways after high school ended. Until, that is, eight years later when she moved into the apartment across from mine.

We didn't immediately hit it off like a couple would in any romance novel. We still had those misconceptions about each other that we had had when we were in school. She still believed me to be a barbaric jerk that was small-minded and I still believed her to be a goody-two-shoes prude who was more saint than sinner. Getting to know each other was slow going and never in my life did I think that I would think that I would be standing where I was in only five short years.

Our relationship was never perfect. Old anger and past hurt got in the way more times than I can count. But we always seemed to make it work some way. We had passion, we had understanding and we had a connection that neither of us could have formed when we first me. We had bonded in a way that I could no longer see my life without her and vice versa.

When I look back on the five years it took to get where we are now, it all appears as one big blur. However, within that blur is a story that I believe worth sharing. It is a story that to be able to tell will need to be broken down by days to fully encompass every tumultuous and thrilling moment that we've shared. And I'll begin with day one.

_**To Be Continued… **_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Day One_

He was just coming home from…what was her name again? Jenna? Jenny? Gina—Gina with her devilish smile and curves that could send a man into cardiac arrest—that was her name, he was sure of it. He was just coming home from Gina's apartment when he saw her. Cinnamon waves just brushing her shoulders, slim figure encased in a pair of dark jeans and a form-fitting sweater, a box tucked under her arm, a bag hanging off of her shoulder and a cell phone tucked between her ear and that same shoulder. The feeling that he knew the woman from somewhere niggled at him like a long-forgotten dream, grabbing hold of him and refusing to let go.

But when he heard her voice, terse and slightly aggravated as she spoke to the person of the receiving end of the phone, the feeling became an aching certainty.

"Yes, Mom, I'm all moved in…No, I can't change my mind now…Even if I wanted to, which I don't, I signed a lease…It is _not_ a bad area. It's affordable, which given my job situation, is what I need right now…I know you'd loan me the money but that's not the point…Look, if you're so worried about it, why don't you just ask Jake what he thinks. He is the one who helped me move, after all. He didn't seem to have the problem that you do with it…I highly doubt that since it was years ago…It is not…No, I will not…Yeah, I'll remember…Okay, I'll see you Saturday…I love you too…Bye."

She let out a frustrated sigh as she tossed the phone in the box she was carrying and ran the hand through her hair as if she wanted to pull it out. "I'm twenty-six freaking years old and still treated like I'm six. How seriously messed up is that?" he heard her grumble as she dug through her bag.

He didn't know what made him make his next move, whether it was the fact that the box kept slipping or the fact that she sounded genuinely upset by the phone call, but he stepped forward and snagged the box from her grip. She whipped around, crystal blue eyes ablaze with indignation. "Excuse me, I don't know who the _hell_ you think you are but today is not a good day to mess with me," she growled, the sound sending a tremor to his gut that he knew he had never felt before.

He shifted the box and held up a freed hand. "Relax; I was just trying to help."

"I would've managed." She pulled her keys from the bag and slipped it into the lock on the doorknob, pushing open the door and reaching for the box. "But thanks, I guess."

He followed her inside the apartment, noting the changes that she had made to make it more hospitable like the lavender paint on the walls and the matching furniture. The only way anyone would know that she was new to the building were the stacks of boxes lining the walls which he placed the box he was carrying on top of. "So when did you move in?"

"Yesterday afternoon. I'm sorry; can I help you with something?"

"You don't remember me, do you?"

She narrowed her eyes and chewed on her bottom lip as she regarded him thoughtfully. "Should I?"

"Well, we did go to school together for four years. And I'd like to think they were memorable."

A shaped brow rose. "If they were so memorable, then I would know who you are and we wouldn't have to play guessing games. Now, would we?"

_Touché._ "That sort of hurts, Edwards. It's not too saintly to wound a man's ego. I mean, I was a big deal back then. Not only was I the star but I was the captain of both the wrestling and the football teams and I happened to be one of the most popular guys at Degrassi."

He could pinpoint the exact moment realization hit when her eyes widened. "Of course, now I remember. How could I forget the guy who made the lives of both my friends and myself perfect hell?"

"Geez, harsh much? And after I was nice enough to help you out in your time of need in the hallway."

She shrugged. "I only go by what memory serves. And I wasn't that needy, Owen."

"I only go by what memory serves," he mimicked, causing her to roll her eyes. "What's it going to take for you to see that I've changed?"

"A time machine. Or maybe a giant mind eraser."

Owen chuckled sarcastically. "Were you always such a comedian? But seriously, we're going to be neighbors so I guess I'll have plenty of opportunities to change your mind."

"Wait a minute, what do you mean by neighbors?"

A smirk formed on his lips as he backed up towards the door. "Oh, did I forget to mention that I live across the hall? See you around, neighbor."

He slipped through the door and shut it behind him, the sound of her infuriated scream music to his ears.

* * *

><p><em>Day Two<em>

He didn't know why but he was less than surprised to find Clare talking on her cell in the hall when he got home from work the next day. After happening upon her the day before during the conversation with her mother and, again, that morning on his way out, he figured that either she liked having private conversations made public or people just liked to call her at inopportune moments. Whatever it was, he was more surprised to find that it was Alli that she was speaking to than the fact that she was on her phone for the third time in the shared hallway.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not interested…No, I'm not dating anyone…I don't have to be dating someone to not be interested, Alli…I don't care if he's next up to be the King of England…It's not about that…That ended a year ago and good riddance…Yes, okay, you got me. I'm so hung up over my deadbeat ex-boyfriend that I can't bring myself to date your fiancé's cousin's friend's sister's roommate…Yes, Alli that was sarcasm." She must have caught sight of him eavesdropping out of the corner of her eyes because she smiled and waved at him. He had to admit that it was nice change in attitude from the caustic welcome he received the day before and the flippant greeting that morning. "Alli, I just don't want to be set up with some guy who has four 'of a friend' before his name…Yes, just one less would have made such the difference."

He chuckled when she rolled her eyes. "Oh, would look at that? My neighbor just stopped by for something. Perhaps you might remember him? Owen Milligan? No? Well, I got to go. Call you later, Alli." She hung up the phone; cutting off her friend's sputtering as she tried to form a reply and slipped it inside her purse. "She's on the verge of having a fit. She just hasn't figured out how to have it and still be appropriate. But I can almost guarantee that when she does, she's going to be contacting everyone we know to get your number to make sure your behaving yourself."

"Alli Bhandari is about to become my own personal stalker. I never thought I'd see the day."

"Yeah, well, you'll wish you hadn't when it does. I can get over past grudges. Alli, on the other hand, has a little trouble with them."

"Is that why you've seemed to get over hating my guts?"

Clare shrugged. "I've just done some thinking about things and I guess you had a point. If you have changed, then I wouldn't really know since we haven't seen each other in almost a decade. And since we are neighbors, I should at least have the decency to give you the chance to show me especially since I'm sure I'm not the same girl you knew back then. So, I guess I'm declaring the slate to be clean between us."

Owen nodded, digging out his keys and sliding it into the lock on the door. Turning it to release the deadbolt and then moved to the actual lock on the handle, he moved to push open the door but paused before entering his dimly lit apartment. "There's one thing wrong with what you said. No matter how much you might've matured, you're still the same girl that I knew. People don't change that drastically."

He shut the door behind him, missing the rosy blush that had formed on Clare's cheeks.

* * *

><p><em>Day SevenEight_

The sounds of someone swearing and hitting the wall jolted her from her a practically dreamless sleep, causing a momentary confusion as to just where that sleep was being contacted. It took a minute for her mind to register that the blue light was coming from the television and not the blue light she keep plugged into the bathroom wall that adjoined her bedroom. Clare sought out her cell phone that was on the table before her and hit a button, blearily noting that the hour was nearing three and the only reason that she could hear the mysterious person outside her apartment was because she fell asleep on the sofa yet again.

Rolling off of said object, she stretched to work out the kinks in her back that resulted from her awkward sleeping arrangement and made her way to the door to find the source of her interrupted sleep. She whipped open the door, ready to let whoever it was have an ear full, but her jaw could only drop when she saw who it was on the other side.

She hadn't seen him since their Sunday afternoon run-in five and a half days before, not that she was counting or anything. There had been no casual interludes in the hallway due to her phone conversations, no simple greetings when she was coming and he was going or vice versa. In fact, it was as though they had returned to their former high school selves and simply began to pretend like the other didn't exist. Which she knew did not bode well for their previous agreement to wipe the slate clean and start anew.

Clare would have been angry at this if not for the fact that she had not put in any of her own effort to talk to the man. But work kept her busy, so busy that she hardly had time to fall into her own bed much less knock on his door, and she figured that it must have been the same for him. Although, she hardly figured that work was the reason he was currently stumbling around in the hallway, teach her words she never knew existed or would have put in that context and banging into both her wall and his own.

"Uh, Owen, are you okay?" she ventured, then mentally smacked her own forehead. Hadn't she learned from her last boyfriend not to ask stupid questions like that when it was so clear that the person in question _wasn't_ okay? "Owen?"

He turned to face her. If she couldn't tell before that he had been drinking by the way he had been staggering, the glazed look in his eyes and the distinct odor radiating from his person definitely gave it away. He shook his head slightly and the glazed look slowly melted into one of recognition. "Clare, what are you doing out here? You know it's not safe for you to be out this late," he slurred.

Even though it had to be the liquor doing the talking, Clare found that she was a bit touched by his concern. "I wasn't out. I was sleeping but _someone_ woke me up."

Owen cringed. "That was me. I'm sorry."

Clare brushed off his apology. "It's not a big deal. What are you doing out here?"

"I can't find my keys."

"That might be because you're drunk."

"I'm not…I might…Okay, I am a bit drunk."

She watched as swayed on his feet, falling slightly to the side and hitting the wall with a resounding _bang_. She quickly made her way over to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist, taking his arm and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Come on, we'll find your keys in the morning."

Clare didn't know exactly how she was able to do it, but somehow she had maneuvered the man who was almost twice her size in height and build not only inside her apartment but into her bedroom as well. The only trouble she really had was when she was getting him on her bed and he didn't quite let go quickly enough, causing her to fall halfway on top of him. She hurriedly disentangled his arm from her neck and pulled her arm from beneath his body and, chuckling, pushed herself to her feet.

"Is this your bed? I can't take your bed."

Apparently drunken Owen also meant mannerly Owen. Clare pulled his shoes off, tried revert by to her adolescent self by blushing as she removed his black slacks and button-down shirt to allow him some semblance of comfort and followed by pulling the quilt over his prone body. She allowed herself to study him for a moment like she was never capable of doing before, noting that his hair was longer than she remembered it ever being and that, in sleep, she could just picture what he must have looked like in boyhood. The simple relaxations in features brought on by sleep made the shadows marring the space underneath his eyes appear out of place and as though they should belong to anyone else on the planet.

She jumped when he grunted and shifted positions, her cheeks aflame with the guilt that came from watching someone unaware. She hastened to her dresser, pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and matching tank, and made her way to the entrance of her bedroom. Clare allowed herself one last glance at the half-naked man before escaping to the safety of her living room.

The brightness of the late morning—or was it early afternoon?—burned his corneas through his closed eyelids. Cautiously, he blinked his eyes open a millimeter at a time until his eyes had adjusted enough to where he could open them completely with only a slight wince. What he saw brought on only confusion and a bit of pain from the sunlight streaming through the open blinds.

Last time he had checked, Owen did not own a set of—what did his mother call it? Periwinkle?—periwinkle bedding or a handmade quilt like the one covering the lower half of his body. He was also certain that his furniture was all made of darker wood than the oak nightstand and dresser that currently stood in the room. Where exactly had he ended up the night before? The last thing he remembered was turning down the brunette at the bar the night before and then catching a cab home. But could he have changed his mind and called the number she had given him?

He glanced around the room, finding his clothing neatly folded on the wicker chair in the corner of the room. Flinging off the quilt and sheet that had become constricting, he stumbled to the stack and yanked on his pants before the unknown owner of the bedroom returned. Pulling on his shirt as well and buttoning it halfway to allow for a modicum of decency, Owen quietly but quickly slipped out of the bedroom and short hallway of the apartment. He planned to make it to the front door and escape out of the apartment completely without alerting anyone when those plans were waylaid by the figure in the kitchen.

Clad in a sweater and a pair of form-fitting jeans, her back was to him but Owen would recognize that head of cinnamon-colored hair anywhere. She stood in front of the stove from which the distinct sound and smell of bacon frying drifted over to meet his senses. Owen watched her reach for a measuring cup on the counter next to the stop, pouring the yellow liquid that he deduced was eggs into another frying pan and giving it a quick stir with her spatula. She waited a few moments, stirred the eggs again with one hand while reaching for an awaiting plate with the other. One more stir and the eggs were then placed on the plate followed by the sizzling bacon.

Waiting until she had turned the stove off and was safely away from anything that could burn, he cleared his throat which caused her to jump and turn to look at him with startled blue eyes. "Hey," she greeted him with a smile, putting the steaming breakfast platter on the counter between them and pushing it closer to him. He cringed slightly at shot of pain her chipper voice brought to his head. "Did you get your aspirin?"

He shook his head and she reached into a drawer, pulling out a large container of the small white pills. Distributing two, she placed them on the counter next to a mug she then filled with coffee as dark as any found at an espresso stand. "I figured you'd be hungry after last night but I didn't know what you'd like. So, I went for what my ex always wanted."

He swallowed the pills and took a seat on one of the barstool she had set up. "You made me breakfast?"

"Well, it's technically lunch but yeah, I guess I made you breakfast."

The last person who had actually cared enough to make him a meal had been his mother and decided that no matter how good or bad her cooking ended up being, he was more than a little touched by her gesture. Taking the proffered plate of steaming breakfast food, he took a small bite to test just how badly it would affect his already burgeoning hangover before digging into the meal with gusto.

"This is actually pretty good," he complimented her, swallowing his bite of the fluffy eggs and chomping on a crisp slice of maple bacon. "I didn't know you cooked."

"I don't. I can make breakfast and any type of boxed item but that's about where my expertise ends. Do you want more coffee?"

Owen shook his head. "I'm good. So how did I end up in your bed last night? We didn't…"

"No! God, no, it was nothing like that," she was quick to respond.

Was it wrong that her aversion to having sex with him actually struck a nerve? "You don't have to say it like that. I mean, it's not every day that I wake up half-naked in a strange bed and that's not the reason for it."

"Sorry, I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea. You were actually coming home and you woke me up looking for your keys. I just thought that it was a better idea that you get a good night's sleep than to spend it drunkenly searching for something," Clare replied. She took his empty plate and set it in the sink. "You might want to talk to the super about letting you into your apartment, by the way. And changing your locks might be a good idea because I looked for your keys and only found your wallet in your pocket."

"You felt the need to strip me down to do so?"

Did she just turn bright red? Although, with her eyes flashing, he doubted it was from embarrassment if she did. "So sorry that I wanted you to actually be comfortable while sleeping off your bender. Next time I'll just let you knock yourself out in the hallway."

He held his hands up in a truce. "Sorry for being such a jerk. Thanks for letting me steal your bed and for cooking me breakfast. I promise that it won't happen again."

"You're welcome," she muttered.

He drained the last of the coffee from his mug and stood. "I'm going to go now before I put my other foot in my mouth. I'll see you around the building, okay?"

As he departed from her apartment and went in search of the building's super to gain access to his—he remembered that his keys were still in the top drawer of his desk at work—he had to wonder just what her ex-boyfriend was thinking to give up a woman like Clare Edwards. He also had to wonder why he had been such an idiot in high school to never give the girl a second glance unless it was to antagonize her.

_**To Be Continued…**_


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Day Fourteen_

She arrived at her apartment an hour later than she attended thanks to the hellacious woman that was her editor. Apparently, her article on the budget of the local school district just _did not have enough pizazz to appeal to their readers_. How she could make facts and figures that were droll even to the people who made them their living have pizazz she didn't know, but three rewrites later and she produced an article that was deemed acceptable by the woman.

Only, now she was late to the one thing that she had promised not to be late for. It was her mother's tenth anniversary dinner with Glenn in which Jake would be stopping by with his new girlfriend. However, unbeknownst to either of their parents, the new girlfriend wasn't really new at all since they had been dating for the last eight months and had plans to move in with each other.

Clare had met the women only a handful of times but she was less than shocked that their relationship was moving at a breakneck speed. They had the type of chemistry that made them utter perfection together, the type of perfection that caused single people like herself green with envy.

She stubbed her toe on her dresser—muttering a few choice words—as she made a mad dash to her closet to find something suitable to wear, something less wrinkled than the pencil skirt and tailored blouse that she was currently wearing. Ripping the nearest cocktail dress off of a hanger, she quickly divested herself of the office wear and threw it on. Shoving her feet into a pair of kitten heels, she grabbed a wrap to cover her bare arms along with the purse she had thrown on her bed and flew out the bedroom door.

Locking the door behind her and halfway to the stairs, she was waylaid by the sound of her cell phone alerting her to an incoming call. Clare cringed when she saw her mother's name on the screen. "Mom? I'm leaving now," she announced upon answering. "My editor didn't like my article and wouldn't let me leave until it was just right."

Her mother's chuckle on the other end comforted her in a way that nothing else could at that particular moment. "Oh, don't worry about it. Jake called earlier today and had to cancel because his girlfriend…Ella…Elizabeth…"

"Eliza, Mom, her name is Eliza."

"Right. Well, Eliza had to go into work at the last minute and Jake didn't feel up to coming without her. Did you know that she's a resident at Toronto General?"

"Yes, I actually did. So, what's happening with dinner tonight?"

"If you'd call me back like I ask you to when I leave messages, Clare, you'd know that Glenn and I decided to just have a quiet night in. We'll reschedule for some time next month," Helen Martin informed her daughter.

They shared their goodbyes, agreeing to meet for coffee when their schedules allowed for it. Clare slumped tiredly against a wall and closed her eyes. She didn't know why she was surprised that her mother had cancelled at the last minute. Since meeting Glenn, Helen had become almost as unreliable as a giddy schoolgirl with a crush.

"Hey," she heard a deep voice greet her.

She cracked open her eyes to see Owen trudging up the stairs, his jacket slung over his shoulder with one hand and his tie completely undone as well as the collar of his oxford shirt. "Hey, you just get home from work?"

Owen nodded. His gaze swept over her and lingered a moment longer than necessary on portion of her legs left bare by the length of her dress, causing Clare to shift a bit in her stance. "You got a hot date?"

"I was supposed to have dinner with my parents. It's their tenth anniversary."

His brow furrowed momentarily with confusion and she could tell the exact moment his memory kick started. "Your mom married Jake Martin's dad, right?"

"Right," Clare confirmed.

"So what happened?"

"Jake wanted them to meet his girlfriend tonight before they moved in together but she got called into work and he cancelled. Mom and Glenn decided that it'd be best to make a party of three into a party of two," she explained.

"What are your plans now?

Clare shrugged. "Change into a pair of sweatpants, heat up the leftover Chinese food sitting in my fridge and watch whatever is on the TV. I mean, going to dinner with the family was kind of my big plan for the night."

"Or you could let me take you out. I know a great bistro downtown. It's not as fancy as where your family was planning to take you but it'd be a chance to show off that great dress," Owen offered.

Would she choose to have dinner with a man that she was quickly beginning to call a friend or spend the night alone at home with leftover takeout that was a day away from being thrown out? "Sure, let's go out. But I'm paying."

His lips quirked in a smug grin that was all too reminiscent of the one she remembered from years before. "We'll see."

* * *

><p><em>Day Thirty<em>

A pounding on his door awoke Owen from a deep sleep. He had worked an almost twelve hour day and had planned to spend his night relaxing with the woman he had met in a coffee shop at the beginning of the week. But as soon as he got home, divested himself of his suit and stepped into a scalding shower, a wave of exhaustion blindsided him. When he lied down on the bed, he swore that all he needed was an hour—two tops—and he would be good to go.

Obviously, that hour had long since passed since the clock on his nightstand indicated he had slept half the night away. He listened as the pounding got more insistent and, grumbling, rolled out of bed. Stalking over to the door, he whipped it open and planned to deliver a barrage of verbal abuse to the person intruding on his sleep until he saw who it was.

Clare Edwards was standing before him in a pair of dark denim jeans and a low-cut shirt that left about as little to the imagination as the jeans. Her hair was loose around her face and her makeup was smudged from being left on too long. "Oh, thank God, you're home. I locked myself out of my apartment and since you have my extra key…"

"You need me to let you in." He reached up and grabbed the key ring from the hook beside the door. "I can't believe Responsible Clare forgot her key."

She followed him down the hall to where her apartment was located and leaned against the wall as he searched through the keys to find hers. "What can I say? I was in a rush."

"Let me guess. You had a hot date and couldn't figure out which shoes went with your outfit."

"No, I had to meet Alli at some bar. She just started dating the bartender and she wanted my honest opinion about him. But you are right about the shoes," Clare informed him.

He glanced down at the pair of red stilettos that adorned her feet. Their presence explained why she was currently standing only a couple of inches shorter than him. "So, did you approve?"

Clare shrugged. "It wouldn't matter if I did or not. She's going to date whoever she wants no matter what I say. Now, if I thought there was some kind of future with the guy, I might have said something about him flirting with the two blondes a few seats down from us."

Her words momentarily gave him pause. "You didn't tell her about him flirting with other women? I thought women were all about female empowerment and loyalty and unity and shit."

"Like I said, there is no future with the guy so why rock the boat? If I had thought that the bartender was going to be her husband one day then I definitely would have said something," Clare pointed out. "He's the Mr. Right Now that she needs to get over the last guy she thought was Mr. Right."

Owen shook his head, filled with disbelief at the logic that women had sometimes. There was no way that he would let one of his buddies date a girl who was flirting with other men, whether or not he deemed the relationship to be serious. Finding the key that she had given him the day after he had awoken in her bed—he had done the same because the last thing he wanted was to find his self in another situation like that one—he slipped into the lock and turned. He pushed the door open and stepped aside to allow Clare entry.

She smiled her thanks as she passed him but something still bothered him. "How do you know that this bartender is just a little fun for Alli? She could really care about the guy."

"I've known Alli since the fifth grade. She goes for the type of guy that she can fix. The bartender is smart, handsome, comes from a good family and is working his way through graduate school. He doesn't smoke, barely drinks and doesn't touch drugs. He's about as clean-cut as they come and the last guy that Alli is going to view as someone needing to be fixed," she explained. "You watch. Give it two or three months and I'll be meeting the next guy."

She had a hand on the door. "Thanks for getting me into my apartment. I'll see you around, Owen."

* * *

><p><em>Day Eighty-two<em>

Clare and Owen had been spending time together in more frequent intervals. Takeout when both had a late night at work, coffee on two separate Saturday afternoons, breakfast every Sunday at her apartment after he woke from his Saturday night bingers , and an awkward lunch when he had happened upon her shopping with her mother. They were starting to become more than mere acquaintances and Owen was beginning to regard her as one of his closest friends

Not that he had too many of those anymore. His days of being the big man on campus with more friends than he could count on his fingers had ended the day he graduated from college. Those same friends had moved on with their lives, become successful in their chosen fields and had begun to settle down to start families of their own. Burgeoning family men didn't have time for the low man on the totem pole who spent his weekends drinking and sleeping with random women, as Owen soon found out when every invitation he extended was rejected with hardly any explanation as to why.

He had kept in contact with a few of his college buddies were not yet ready for the next step in life like himself as well as a few friends that he made at his job. There was the confirmed bachelor, the guy who had been divorced twice and quickly on his way to a third, two college kids who were interns, and Eddie, who worked in the finance department of the insurance company that employed them all. They were all good drinking buddies and great wingmen but he wouldn't trust any of them with his life, let alone his innermost thoughts or knowledge of his newfound relationship with Clare.

With the exception of Eddie, he supposed, who unlike the rest of them had a serious girlfriend that he was devoted to and was the designated driver more times than not when they went out. Which was why, he figured, he was meeting the other man for drinks and an early dinner without the rest of their usual brigade. Despite how well it seemed he clicked with Clare, he still couldn't get over the niggling feeling that their friendship was progressing with too much ease given their history. And he needed someone who wasn't Clare to be a listening board to work out these current doubts he was having.

"Hey man, sorry I'm late." Eddie slid into the booth that Owen had procured. "One of our major clients called about an hour before I was ready to get out of there. Apparently, his oldest daughter crashed her Beemer today and last week she took their boat out for a joyride and totaled it. What's even better is that she crashed the Beemer into her twin's convertible. I'll never understand giving a sixteen-year-old a Beemer but I guess if you have the money."

"And how's the twin who got her car wrecked by her sister?"

"I imagine she's pissed. It was a '64 Mustang."

Owen mimed an _ouch_ as the waitress came to their table and took their orders, Eddie oblivious to the woman's obvious flirting as Owen looked on with utter amazement. The woman was the epitome of show-stopping beauty but Eddie's interest in her only extended to whether she took their order correctly, letting Owen be certain that he had made the right decision in who to trust. Once it was understood that the man wanted nothing more than food and the woman departed from their table, Eddie turned his attention back to his friend. "So, why did you want to meet tonight without the others?"

"I need some advice."

Eddie chuckled. "On a woman, right?"

"How'd you guess?"

"If it was about anything else, there wouldn't be a need for secrecy. I mean, they're all great guys but not the kind I would want knowing anything about me that has any substance," Eddie said, shrugging his shoulders. "So, tell about the woman and how I can help?"

Owen took in a deep breath and began at the beginning, their days at Degrassi and how she only knew him as the bully who tormented anyone who was not the status quo. He went on to explain about graduation and how he had heard about the woman every so often from people that he would run into. And finally, he told him how they met again in their apartment building and the friendship that resulted from that meeting.

"Given our history, I can't believe she gave me the time of day. Now, I'm starting to consider her one of my closest friends. I guess it just bothers me how quickly she went from acquaintance to the status of best friend. I should be worried about that, right?" Owen finished.

The waitress returned with their orders and Eddie tucked into his burger, chewing the large bite thoughtfully as he mulled over what he had been told. "I don't know if worried is the right emotion. Personally, I'd just count my blessings that what was done as a kid didn't come back to bite you permanently in the ass."

"But the progression was fast, wasn't it?"

Eddie shrugged. "Who can really judge the speed in which a relationship should form? I mean, I met Hannah at my parents' anniversary, asked her out a week later and now, six months later, we're moving in together with plans of marriage. With any other girl, it would have taken years to get to this point."

"Well, I wouldn't say I plan to marry Clare."

"Give it time," Eddie muttered with a conspiratorial smirk. He cleared his throat. "Look, Owen, the only advice I can give to you is to enjoy it. Women like my Hannah and your Clare don't come around too often. So, she once hated your guts and now you're thick as thieves. Who cares?"

"I do. Her parents will. Her best friend definitely does. And don't get me started on what her stepbrother is going to say."

Eddie paused at that, pursing his lips together. "Well, look at it this way. At least you'll be a better man for knowing her."

_**To be continued…**_


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Day One Eighty-Nine_

"Hey," Clare greeted him, handing him both bottles of beer that she was carrying before she climbed onto the fire escape. She settled onto the ladder a few steps above him, repositioning her skirt to allow for a modicum of modesty, and accepted the bottle from his outstretched hand. "So this is where you escaped."

"I didn't think you'd notice with your party going on."

Clare rolled her eyes. "Yeah, trust me. This was the last thing I wanted to do tonight."

"Really? Celebrating your birthday was the last thing you wanted? I thought all girls love their birthdays."

"We do. But I had a different perspective on how to spend this particular day than Alli did, I guess."

Owen bumped a shoulder into her knees. "And what would a Clare Edwards birthday celebration look like if not a party?"

Clare leaned back against the steps, resting her head against the railing and closing her eyes. "I was going to have a bubble bath with candles and a bottle of wine I bought last week. And afterwards, I was going to settle down with one of those trashy romance novels that I used to read as a teenager."

"So, the complete opposite of Alli planned then?"

"Pretty much," Clare replied with a laugh.

"And you're hiding out here because?"

"Because I had a stressful day at work, ran into my ex on the way home and have had about enough of listening to the latest top 40's on full blast. All while pretending that I don't want to kill the bunch of people hanging around my apartment when it's almost midnight, especially their ringleader," Clare told him.

"Do you want me to kick them out? I'm about as good at breaking up parties as I am with starting them."

Clare shook her head, sliding down to his level and resting her upper body against his. Her body shuddered as she let out a yawn that ended in a sigh and he wrapped his arm around her, allowing her to snuggle closer to his side. "I think I'm good here. This way Alli gets her party and I get my peace and quiet. And you to keep me company."

He intertwined his fingers with hers and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Happy birthday, Clare."

The sound of her soft snoring was his response.

* * *

><p>It was a quarter to one when Alli popped her head out the window, the look of disgust clearly written on her face. "Ugh, so she's been out here with you this whole time. I figured that she'd be hiding from the party about an hour into it but I didn't think she'd be hiding with you."<p>

"It's nice to see you too, Bhandari," he greeted her with a sickening sweet tone.

Her dark eyes rolled skyward. "God, I'll never understand what went through my best friend's head when she picked you to be her newest confidant."

"Trust me; the feeling is completely mutual about you."

"Whatever, Owen," Alli spat, "I just wanted to tell Clare that the party's broken up and I've started the clean-up. I'll be back tomorrow to finish but she's not to lift a finger to help."

"Well, as you can see, Clare is asleep."

"Great. So when she wakes up, you tell her what I told you and all should be good." She gave them another look of disgust before disappearing from the open window.

Owen waited until he heard the front door slam before rousing the sleeping beauty resting against him. She blearily blinked open her eyes and delivered him a small smile as she stretched. "Sorry for falling asleep on you."

He waved away her apology. "Alli said the party's over and she'll be back tomorrow to clean up."

Clare nodded, yawning. "Sounds like a plan. You didn't have to stay out here with me, you know."

"Sure I did. If I hadn't, what would you have used for a pillow?"

"Thanks, Owen." She stood, brushing off her backside and stepping towards the window. She had one leg inside the apartment when she paused. "I'm really glad we're friends."

Later, when he was falling into bed, he had to wonder why hearing the word _friend_ out of her mouth bothered him so much.

* * *

><p><em>Day Two Hundred Fifty-three<em>

He was having drinks with Eddie and a few of their mutual friends when his cell phone went off. Excusing himself from the conversation that had taken a more vulgar turn, Owen ducked into the lobby of the hotel that was their current watering hole. Not recognizing the number on the screen, he answered with a terse _hello _to whoever had the gall to interrupt his night and take him away from not only his friends but the attractive bartender as well_._

"Save me," a whisper over the phone line met his ear.

"Clare?"

"Owen, seriously, you have to save me," she begged, her voice only slightly louder than before. "I don't know how much more I can take before I use my fork to cause bodily harm."

"You plan to stab yourself with your fork?"

"Eh, me…him…Alli…it's all really a toss-up at this point."

Owen chuckled. "It can't be that bad, Clare."

"You would think that, wouldn't you? Why don't I paint you a pretty little picture of what's going on here and you can judge just how _bad_ it actually is?" Clare huffed. "First of all, Alli is about two seconds away from shacking up with her cheap imitation of Drew Torres if the tonsil hockey they've been playing all night is anything to go by. Secondly, the date she provided is crude, arrogant and if he touches my leg one more time, I might go postal. And third of all, do you hear that music in the background? The really horrible, god-awful music that sounds like it should be in another universe altogether?"

She paused in her rant to allow the notes of whatever song drift over the phone line to his ear. He cringed the moment he could decipher it being a duet of _I Got You Babe_ and a horrendous one at that. "I hear it."

"I am at a damned karaoke bar. Now if you'd so kindly say good night to your friends and get me the _hell_ out of here before Mr. Touchy-Feely decides that we need to murder some hit from the seventies, I'd very much appreciate it," Clare growled.

"Are you really going to turn down the first bit of action you've seen in almost a year?"

"Owen! I swear to God if you don't get your ass down here in the next twenty minutes, every woman you bring home is going to know that you're hiding out at my place as soon as they wake up," Clare threatened.

"You wouldn't dare."

Clare let out a bark of sardonic laughter. "Do you really want to take that bet? I mean, I've got nothing to lose except my sanity. You, my friend, have a whole lifetime of dates with beautiful women. Because in case you weren't aware, women talk and we especially like to talk about the douchebags in our lives."

Owen ground his teeth together so hard that he actually felt the back of his jaw click. These were the times that he actually found himself missing the old days when she was Saint Clare, back when she would never dream of uttering a harsh word to anyone or fathom blackmailing someone to get out of a date. But, then again, Saint Clare would have rather suffered than to ask for his help. "I'll be there."

* * *

><p>He looked over at the pin-straight women to his side, quickly averting his eyes and pressing his lips together when the ice blue eyes darted his way. She tucked the front locks of her hair behind her ears and looked down at her lap, her shoulders beginning to shake as he watched her finger the hem of her dress. "Oh, come on Clare, it wasn't that bad."<p>

Owen had been detained by his friends a bit longer than he had expected, finally freeing himself from them and the trio of women with them with the help of an understanding Eddie. An hour later, he arrived at the karaoke bar to find the type of mayhem only found in the best chick flicks. Alli and some guy, who he assumed was the Drew Torres look-a-like, were lip-locked on one side of the table and Clare was sitting on the other side with a sickened expression on her face. Owen figured that the reason her face looked so green was because of her best friend playing tonsil hockey right in front of her until he followed her line of vision.

The man he assumed was her date for the evening was on stage, belting out the best of Ricky Martin and grinding his hips to the beat. Owen was ready to stand back and enjoy the discomfort that Clare was displaying until he watched her date jump off the stage. He could actually feel his protective instincts take force as he watched the man make his way closer to where Clare was seated, the unconcealed glint of desire in his eyes causing Owen to surge forward to save the woman from the creep who appeared as though he was ready to devour her.

He ignored the indignant gasp and irritated barbs Alli threw his way—though it did give him an adolescent thrill that his mere presence caused such a reaction—and pushed the now-sputtering man slightly back as he put a hand on Clare's shoulder. Owen acted like the jealous boyfriend who had just caught his girlfriend out on the town when she should have been at home, pulling her out of the chair and towards the door.

Now that he sat with a silent, visibly upset woman in the parking lot of their apartment building, he worried that he had overacted his role. "Clare, I got there as soon as I could. And I thought that you wanted me to get you out of there no matter what it took. If I'd known you were going to be upset, I would have chosen to go about it a different way."

When she raised her head, he expected to see tear tracks on her cheeks. What he didn't expect was the red face brought on by laughter or that her shoulders had been shaking from mirth. She wiped a stray tear that had fallen during her bout of utter amusement. "Owen, I got to say that was one of the most hilarious things I've seen in a long time. Did you see Alli's face when you stalked up to the table and started proclaiming me to be your girl?"

"Wait, you're not mad?"

Clare shook her head. "I should be seeing as how I'm not the biggest fan of me-Tarzan-you-Jane mentality but I can't stop laughing. I didn't know Alli's voice could get that high. And the way she kept slapping her boyfriend in the arm so he'd say something but he just sat there was pretty much priceless. I know she's my best friend and I should be mad at you but she deserved it for setting me up with that creep. Can you believe that idiot still motioned _call me_ as you were dragging me out the door?"

Owen let out a relieved chuckle. "Well, you were right. That guy did look a lot like Drew. Do you think Alli noticed?"

"I think that's probably one of the reasons she's dating him." Another round of laughter escaped her lips that ended with a sigh. "Oh, I'm going to kill her the next time I see her. I mean, is that really the type of guy she really sees me with? Is that the type of guy you see me with?"

She was asking him what type of guy she saw him with? How was he supposed to answer that? "Uh…well…" he cleared his throat. "Look, Clare, I don't know what type of guy you should be with but that freak was the last man on earth that Alli should have introduced you to. You deserve better than that."

Clare smiled softly as she reached for the door handle and pushed it open. Halfway out of the car, she stopped and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks, Owen, for everything."

He raised a hand to the place her lips had touched, watching as she jogged to the entrance of the building before shaking his head to break the semi-trance he had fallen into.

**To Be Continued...**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Day Three Hundred Seventy-One_

Owen awoke to the sound of someone pounding on his door. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and detangling himself from the cocoon he had procured during the night, he rolled out of bed and made his way to the front door to make the person that interrupted his dreams _stop banging_. He whipped open the door, ready to give whoever it was a piece of his mind, but swallowed the intended tongue-lashing when he saw a tear-stained Clare on his doorstep.

"Owen," she sniffled. Her cheeks began to match her red-rimmed eyes as she glanced over his half-naked form. "I'm sorry, I woke you up. I can come back later."

He placed his hand on her upper arm to stop her from turning away. "Clare, it's fine," he said, pulling her by the hand to the beat-up couch situated along the wall of the living room. "Sit down and breathe while I go change. We'll talk when I come back."

When it appeared that Clare had her knees locked in the standing position, Owen gently pushed her back and headed to his bedroom. He quickly dug out a pair of jeans and a shirt out of a hamper and pulled them over his boxers before returning to the living room. Clare was still sitting in the same place, gaze focused on the same unidentifiable spot, that he had left her in.

Shoving empty takeout containers and magazines to the side, Owen took a seat on the coffee table in front of her and took her hand in his, scrutinizing her appearance to find some indication that would tell him why he had found her gracing his welcome mat. But from the rat's nest that was her hair to the baby blue buttoned-up shirt paired with smiley-faced pajama bottoms, all he could deduce was that it had to be serious if she left her house so disheveled.

"All right, out with it Clare."

Clare blinked, her eyes still focused somewhere over his right shoulder. "He's getting married, Owen," she breathed, the shaky quality of her voice causing him to fell as though he had been punched in the gut.

"Who's getting married? The ex-boyfriend?" Owen asked. He waited a minute or two for an answer and shifted closer when he didn't receive one. "Clare, you're going to have to give me a little more to go on. Who's getting married?"

"Eli," she whispered, finally meeting his gaze.

"Didn't you two break up years ago?"

Clare shrugged. "Officially, yes." She detangled her hand from his and tucked her feet underneath her on the couch. "But have you ever had someone in your life that you just click with? Someone who you've dated for a while and even though it doesn't work out, that something that drew you to them in the first place never quite goes away? So you find yourself inexplicably drawn to them no matter what point in life you're at because they've become the epitome of what you see for your future."

Her words were another punch to the gut and he swallowed hard. But whether it was because he had never found what she had found in Eli or because he just realized that he had unknowingly found that in Clare, Owen had yet to figure out. "I can't say that I have."

"Well, that is what Eli was to me. He was that guy who embodied every stupid romance novel I ever read, every chick flick I ever watched and ever sappy teen drama that ever played on the television. I guess I always envisioned that we'd end up together for keeps one day, no matter what paths in life we were taking," Clare told him.

"But now he's getting married."

"Now he's getting married."

Owen swung around to where he was sitting beside her on the couch, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her down to relax against his side. "How did you find out?"

"Adam called me. We don't talk all that much anymore but he and Eli are still as close as they ever were. He thought I would want to know."

"Who's he going to marry?"

"It's some girl that he met through his publisher. He's a bonafide novelist now, you know."

"I heard something about that."

They sat together in silence; more tears falling from Clare's eyes as Owen mindlessly ran his hand up and down her arm. Owen thought from her evening breathing that she had begun to fall asleep until she shot up, startling him enough to break his hold. "I think I need to date more."

The change in her emotions happened so quickly he thought his head would spin. "I thought your heart was broken."

"It is. And that's why I need to date more."

"I'm not following you."

Clare moved her body until she was facing him completely. "It's simple, really. Every relationship I've ever been in is just that. _A relationship_. I've never done the whole going out for fun thing. I've never done the type of dating that you and Alli do."

"And what kind of dating is that?"

"You know. You meet someone, say in a bar or on the street, and you hit it off. You go out for drinks or for dinner, invite them back to your place and maybe you have fun but maybe you don't. Maybe you go out with them again but maybe you don't. The only thing that remains definite is that you don't fall for them and everything remains simply casual. I've never done that but I think it's time that I should start," Clare explained.

The look on her face told him that she had already decided that that was the new path to take for her life. But as the person who had just held her because of some guy she had dated years before, he felt that it was his place to voice certain concerns. "Clare, are you sure this is the right move to make? Did you ever think that there might be a reason that you've never been a serial dater?"

She eyed him warily. "What exactly are you saying?"

"I just…you're not like Alli and me. You've always been the type to wear your heart on your sleeve. You care too much, too fast, too hard, to the point that you actually feel guilty if you think that you might have hurt the person even if there was no way you could. Alli and I, we don't care if we never see the person again after we're through with them. We don't care if they get hurt when we forget to call because we're not that hurt if they don't call us," Owen told her. "But you, you're the type of girl who obsesses for weeks on end if they don't live up to one of their promises."

Clare stood. "Wait a minute, so because I think it's just human decency to return a phone call, I'm too emotional to have the ability to have meaningless relationships?"

"You tell me. Hell, you've been dreaming up scenarios where you reconnect with some guy you dated in high school for the last six years."

She stalked over to his door. "You know what, Owen, just because I happened to have a fantasy that I knew had no way of happening doesn't mean that I can't leave my emotions on the backburner when dating random guys. Did you ever think that dating random guys is just what I need right now, what Alli needs in her life because too many guys have broken her heart? I mean, just because we actually want to have fun doesn't mean we plan to sleep with half of Toronto like you do."

Clare had a hand on the doorknob and was about to exit when she said the last thing that would stay in his mind. "And did you ever think that the fucked up notion that returning a phone call equals attachment might mean that you're the one who is emotionally dysfunctional? Not I, not Alli, but you, the guy who has the never ending stream of women coming in and out of your apartment like it's a damned two-for-one sale at Macy's."

He jumped when the door slammed shut.

**- O-C –**

_Day Four Hundred Eighteen_

It had been a month since he talked to her and he found that he actually missed her. Like on the nights when he had a long day at work and all he wanted was someone listen to him groan and complain. Or on those lazy weekends when the sun was shining and he was close to reaching for the phone because there was nothing she liked more than to window shop when the weather was nice. And he especially missed her in the middle of the night when their favorite movie came on—the one that she can provide a running commentary to because she learned every word long before he even knew of its existence.

Even though she lived just across the hall, the feeling as though she had moved to some unknown island was quick to form. He had been tempted more than once to suck it up and apologize, just to have his best friend back in his life, but the fear that she would simply slam the door in his face constantly overrode that urge. And it's that fear that caused him to dodge her more than once and to hide in his apartment whenever there was a chance he could run into her.

It was another one of those nights when he wanted nothing more than to stand on her doorstep, hat in hand, begging for just a little leniency if not forgiveness. His boss had been riding his back all weeks about reports and deadlines and, now that it was Friday, all he wanted was to forget his life for a few hours. But the guys all had plans; none of his usual bedmates were all that appealing and trolling the local scene for someone new was enough to turn his stomach. So on a night made for partying; Owen Milligan was heating a TV dinner in his dimly lit apartment with the intention of watching whatever game was being shown.

He had officially hit rock bottom.

The microwave _dinged_ and Owen burnt his fingers as he pulled his dinner out, swearing under his breath as he cooled them with his open bottle of beer. He peeled the film from what could only be called mush at best and took a fork from the draining rack by the sink. Taking a deep breath in to prepare himself as well as a long swig from the beer bottle, he was just about to take the first bite when the steady knocking on his door interrupted.

"Oh, thank God," he breathed, dropping the fork and gulping down the rest of his drink. He threw the uneaten dinner and empty bottle into the trash and went to answer the door for his savior. He didn't know who he was expecting to grace his doorstep but she definitely wasn't on the list of top ten. "Bhandari, you better have a good reason for beating down my door."

She forcefully pushed him to the side to gain entrance, dark hair flying wildly behind her, stopping in the center of the apartment with hands on hips and eyes flashing. Owen doubted she was much taller than five feet but her stance made her seem as though she was nearing seven. "I want to know what the hell you did to my best friend."

"I—" He cleared his throat. "Who said I did anything to her? Maybe it has something to do with her ex getting married."

Alli rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Clare was over Eli years ago. She just didn't want to admit it."

"Well, there you go. She's fine. Now, if you'd so kindly find the door."

"She is not fine. Explain to me how my best friend can be fine when she acting like a zombie one minute and a common whore the next. Explain to me why my best friend, the woman who used to come up with every excuse under the sun why she couldn't go out, is now with a different guy every other day. Explain to me, Owen, because the Clare I know doesn't do a complete one-eighty personality change unless someone said or did something," Alli ranted.

"What do you expect me to say, Bhandari? It's not like I'm the woman's keeper. Maybe she's just having fun like the rest of the world."

Her eyes widened to the point that it was almost comical as she marched up to him, jabbing two fingers into his chest. "I knew it. I knew you had something to do with her new outlook on life."

"What do you mean new outlook on life?"

"The one where she plans to bed half the population of Canada and it's just fine and dandy because they know it's just _casual_." Alli threw up her hands and paced to the other side of the room. "God, just when I think that she's right and you might not be such a bad guy. I want to know what you said, Owen, right now. What did you say to break my best friend?"

"Why do you think it's my entire fault? God, between you and her, a guy just can't catch a break," Owen roared. "Did you think that maybe Clare Edwards was already broken? The woman has had a fantasy in her head for eight years and that seems normal to you? She chooses one bad relationship after another because, I don't know, why does anyone choose one bad relationship after another? If that's not broken then what the fuck is?"

Alli was slightly taken aback by his words but quickly got ahold of her faculties once more. "I'm going to ask one more time," she said through clenched teeth. "What the _hell_ did you _say _to her to send her off the deep end?"

Owen ran a hand through his hair, pacing the floor. "I said she was incapable of having meaningless relationships, all right? She came to me with the bright idea that she was going to sleep with whoever crossed her path like you and I do to get over Eli. And I told her that she didn't have the ability to do that sort of thing because she wasn't like us. Yeah, see, I'm the bad guy because I told the girl she was too caring and obsesses way too much over the guys she dates."

She stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief before breaking out in full-blown laughter. "Wait a minute, so Clare has had a constant stream of guys lately because she's trying to prove you wrong? Because she's trying to prove that she's _not_ the relationship type?"

He shrugged. "I guess if you say it like that, then yes."

"Okay, so you're both idiots."

"Excuse me?"

"Rule number one when dealing with a Clare meltdown, agree with every inanely stupid idea she has; especially when she gets mind-blowing news like the Eli-Daphne engagement and makes the decision to become the next local slut. Trust me, those ideas usually blow over within a week and her embarrassment becomes great fodder for stories," Alli advised.

"So I'm supposed to lie to her and keep what I think to myself?"

Alli shook her head. "Only when she's not thinking logically and that is like barely ever. Better yet; just nod and smile and you won't have to lie. And when she calms down, then you sit her down and tell her everything that we all already know about Clare. Everything that sane Clare already knows about herself."

"So how do I know when that is?"

"Well…" Alli pondered that for a moment. "I guess it's something we all have to figure out on our own. Look, Owen, I was wrong and I apologize for barging in here like I did. You might just be good for my best friend after all." She skipped over to the door. "So you better go fix things before I make your life pretty much a living hell, okay? Good luck."

**- O-C –**

_Day Four Hundred Thirty-Two_

"Clare, come on," Alli whined, taking a flying leap on the bed. Bouncing, she jostled the outstretched form of her best friend and earned a half-hearted shove as a reward.

"No, go away," Clare demanded, her voice muffled by the pillow in which her face was buried in.

"You've been working nonstop, I've been working nonstop and I have declared this to be a girl's night." She smacked Clare on the ass and jumped off the bed before retaliation could take place. "Now get up. I want you dressed in your sexiest little black dress and hottest pair of heels because we are hitting the town."

"Alli—"

"No arguments, Clare-bear. We are doing this because it's been too long since the last time and I want a night with my best friend without men or other obligations getting in the way," Alli commanded.

Before Clare could formulate another thought, much less lift her head from the pillow to stare the other woman down; Alli had disappeared from the bedroom. And an hour later, Clare found herself being pulled by the hand to the entrance of a bar that was just on this side of shady, her body encased in a dress that was too short, too tight and too low-cut. The dress paired with a pair of heels that she was barely teetering on made her look like she was advertising and she couldn't stop pulling it up, down , any which way to cover just one more inch of skin that was impossible to cover.

The loud music and smell of greasy food assaulted her senses the moment she stepped across the threshold and she actually had to take a step back to adjust. She hadn't been to a dive bar since she was nineteen and her roommate had taken her for her first legal drink. Too many drinks coupled with an embarrassing vomit session in the parking lot had her swearing never to revisit a bar like that one again in her lifetime. A bar like the very one Alli had chosen for their appointed girls' night out.

However, it wasn't her surrounding that had her wanting to turn around, run to her apartment and lock the door behind her. It was the huge _Happy Birthday, Owen_ banner plastered to the far wall and the man standing underneath it, a drink in his hand and laughter in his eyes.

"Oh, hell no," she breathed, beginning to turn to make a break for it when Alli's grip became vice-like. "Alli, seriously, what are we doing here?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but Owen is the best guy friend you have," Alli hissed. Clare's mouth opened to dispute the claim but her jaw quickly snapped shut. "And today is said best guy friend's birthday; hence, the celebration being thrown all around us."

"I can't…You know better than anyone that Owen and I are in the middle of a fight."

"Yeah, it's a stupid fight that never should have started in the first place."

"Alli!"

"What? I've left it to the two of you to handle it long enough. Since neither of you wants to take the first so I'm going to do it for you," she announced. Clare tried to dig her heels in as a marching Alli drug her behind but stilettos were the worst possible footwear to have on when attempting to accomplish that feat. Abruptly stopping in front of the man of honor, Clare luckily caught herself before she did a face plant for further embarrassment.

The only consolation Clare got was the look of shock on Owen's face when Alli seized his hand in the same grip and proceeded to drag them both back out of the building.

"What the fuck, Bhandari?" he sputtered once the doors to the bar closed, separating them from the small population inside. "You got a screw loose or something?"

"Hey, don't talk to her like that," Clare admonished.

"I'll talk to her however I want, Edwards."

"Oh, you _must_ have lost a screw to if you think you can talk to _me_ like that."

"Aw, is my harsh tone hurting your delicate ears?"

"Baby talk? You're seriously coming back at me with _baby talk_?"

"It's better than the screaming banshee voice you have going on."

"Oh my God, to think I actually missed you. How could I go a whole year without remembering how much of an immature asshole you actually are?"

"Sweetie, I'd rather be an immature asshole than a prude disguised as a slut. Don't you have a corner to get to?"

"Sure do. And I'll be certain to tell your date that you're on your way to pick her up."

"Yeah, that's real mature, Clare. You just astound me with your level of maturity."

"And you just astound me with your newfound level of wit. Tell me, have you taught the other cavemen lessons on witty banter?"

Meanwhile, Alli watching the mudslinging happening between the two and her patience was growing thin. Two grown adults bickering in the middle of the sidewalk like there was no possibility of an audience forming at any given time. While she might have been amused by this as a gossip-hungry teenager, she was purely humiliated as a woman. But it was helping her to gain some insight and God help her if she couldn't envision a future for the two that went beyond mere friendship.

The only problem was that they had to stop fighting long enough for that future to happen. "Okay, that is _enough_," she shouted, causing both to turn to her like deer in the headlights. "You two are fighting like a couple of damned two-year-olds but neither one of you is fighting about the real issues. And since you don't want to say it, I will."

She turned first to Clare. "Clare, you blew things way out of proportion and you need to admit that whatever Owen said that night made you angry because it hit too close to home. But being hurt didn't give you license to ignore the man. Let me tell you something, I know how it feels to suddenly lose you as a best friend and it's not a nice feeling. So suck it up, accept what he told you as the truth and just start talking to the man again. Maybe you could throw in an apology too."

"See, Clare—"

"And you," Alli cut him off. "Don't even think that you're not the tiniest bit at fault for the deep freeze between you two. I told you two weeks ago to apologize and make nice. I told you two weeks ago to calmly explain your point of view and talk things out. Compliment her, I said. Tell her that she doesn't need a constant stream of men to be okay, I said. Figure out how to be on good terms, I said. Fix things, I said. Did you do any of that? No, you didn't and now we're all standing outside a bar when this could've been done in a nice warm apartment.

Alli stomped over to the door and whipped it open. "So, you two better get on better terms tonight so I don't have to deal with the moping or I'm going to tear both of your hair out. Got it?"

"Got it," they replied in unison.

Owen held out his hand as they watched the door soundlessly slam shut. "Walk with me?"

Clare nodded, accepting the gesture and threading her fingers through his. They walked silently along—sneaking glances at each other when they thought it would go unnoticed, opening their mouths to break the silence but shutting them just as quick—until they reached a café that, while closed for the night, still had tables and chairs set up.

She shivered as she sat down, leading Owen to take his jacket off and slip it over her shoulders. Clare gave him a grateful smile and pulled the sides closer to her body, reveling in the heat that the jacket provided combined with traces of his body heat. He took the seat across from her and they merely stared at each other, two shades of blue—sapphire and ice—steadily crashing against each other.

"Owen, I—"

"Clare, I—"

They shared a laugh. "Let's start over. Owen, I need to apologize. I was a bitch. You were just trying to help that day and I blew everything you said way out of context. Worse yet, I've been holding it against you and that's not fair," Clare began. "And you were right?"

"I was right?"

Clare nodded. "I'm not like you and I'm not like Alli. Casual just isn't my style."

"From what I've heard, you've been doing casual just fine."

"Maybe on the surface," she said, crinkling her nose. "Inside, I hated every minute of it. But I guess I wanted to prove to you and to myself that I don't have to be a relationship girl, that I can have fun like the rest of the world and just _date_."

"And did you prove that?"

"I guess. I mean, I had more dates than in the last month and half with different men than I've had since I was fifteen."

"That doesn't really prove anything. Did you have fun on these dates?" Clare thought for a minute then nodded. "Did you actually have sex with any of these guys?" She cringed with disgust and violently shook her head, causing Owen to internally cheer. "Did you wish that something would come out of at least one date instead of having each one used to prove a point?" She pursed her lips together and nodded again. He grinned. "Well, there you have it. I officially declare you to be a relationship girl who knows how to have fun."

"What?"

"I was wrong about what I said about Alli. She is the relationship type. But how is she ever going to find Prince Charming if she doesn't kiss the frogs along the way?" Owen said. "The same goes for you."

Clare furrowed her brow as she thought over his words but soon broke out into a smile that lit up her face. She jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around his neck, turning her lower body so it landed on his lap. "You know that was as cheesy and sappy as any romantic comedy, right?" she whispered.

Owen knew. But he found as he wrapped his arms tighter around her that he didn't give a damn as long as he had his best friend back.

**To Be Continued…**


	6. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

_Day Four Hundred Seventy-Four_

It was the first day of December and she could already smell the rapidly approaching holiday in the air. There was just something about the time of year that she had always loved. Ever since she was a little girl, she could remember feeling a sort of barely compressed exhilaration and anticipation for the coming yuletide. The childhood delight should have diminished as she grew and matured but time only served to make it grow stronger.

It was everything associated with the holiday that made her feel it, from the bright lights that decorated almost everything to chill in the air only obliterated by a roaring fire or a cup of hot chocolate. From the smells that drifted from the kitchen and lingered long after the meal was finished to the notes of the songs that only played that one special time of year. She even enjoyed braving the crowds at the local shops in search of the one special gift that would bring smiles to the faces of her family and friends.

But what she didn't enjoy was the knowledge that there were some people who didn't have anywhere to go on the holiday or anyone to spend the holiday with. Like KC, the first guy she had dated. Or Jonathan, the guy she was with her sophomore year of college. Neither had accepted her invitation when she found out both would be alone during the season, claiming that it was time for family and they would feel awkward honing in on her time with hers.

However, her last serious boyfriend—the one that she had been with from the end of her senior year to a month before moving across from Owen—had come home with her every year even though she knew for fact that his parents had sent numerous invitations for both of them to join. And she supposed that should have been her first clue that there was not just something wrong with her relationship but with the guy she had chosen to be with as well. It was the first of many, many more clues to follow.

Clare shook her head, shaking herself from her trip down memory lane, and focused on the current matter at hand. The man who she called her best friend, who she had shared the majority of the last year with, was spending the holiday alone. Just as he had the year before when their friendship was so new that she hardly knew how to label it.

And she found it to be unacceptable, a fact which she had no trouble expressing over pitchers of beer and plates of deep-fried appetizers.

"What do you mean your plan for Christmas is to have no plan?" Clare demanded. "Do you even know how foolish that sounds?"

Owen shrugged, using the beer from his glass to wash down a mouthful of breaded cheese sticks. "It's not a big deal, Clare. I'm just going to spend it like I do every year. Chinese food, beer, bad holiday-themed television and, just so I'm not a total Grinch, alcoholic eggnog to finish it all off."

"But…but…but what about your family?" she sputtered. "Don't they want to see you? Don't you want to see them?"

"We stopped doing the family-oriented activities when Tristan was a junior in high school and began making separate plans. My parents are going on a cruise this year and Tristan is spending the holidays with his boyfriend in Aspen like he's been doing for the last four years," Owen informed her. "We'll meet up sometime after New Year's to exchange gifts but other than that, we all tend to do the celebrating on our own."

Clare could hardly believe her ears. Sure, Christmas at the Edwards—or Martins, depending on the point of view—household was never the same after Darcy left for Kenya and conveniently forgot to come back. And yeah, she had to split up her time between it and her father's place on the other side of town which always caused some type of disagreement. But having everyone spend it separately from everybody else? She just couldn't imagine what that would be like at all.

"Owen, that's not even getting into the spirit the tiniest bit. I mean, don't you miss the home-cooked meal, the twinkling lights and the anticipation of opening gifts under the tree? Don't you miss just _being _with your family for the day?"

"Look, not everyone has a holiday that's inspired by Hallmark. It's fine. I'll be fine."

Clare chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated what he told her. A part of her knew that she should just let it ago. He was obviously okay being on his own on that day and had been long before she came along. But the other part of her, the part of her that always seemed to take over when she made rash decisions that were spur-of-the-minute, could not get over just how unacceptable she found it to be.

"Well, it's not fine with me."

"Really?" he said drily, quirking a brow at her.

"Really," she replied definitively. "You're coming home with me."

Owen rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "You think so, do you?"

Clare leaned in as well so their faces were only inches apart. "I don't just think so, Owen, I know so. You're spending the holiday with me, at my house, with my crazy family on Christmas Eve. Then, you're coming with me to spend Christmas morning with my dad and…well; she's not really my stepmother because they never got married."

He laughed at the ludicrousness of the idea. Her family and friends barely accepted the idea that they were neighbors and had become friends who spent time together. He seriously doubted he was going to be welcomed into their household with open arms. But explaining that to a determined Clare was a whole different matter altogether, especially with that glint in her eye that told him that it was going to be next to impossible for her to take no for an answer.

"Clare, I—"

"Look," she cut him off, "I already know you have a million and one excuses lined up to _not_ come. And I don't want to hear them. Just…is it so wrong that I don't want my best friend alone when there's no reason he should be?"

"But your family—"

"They'll deal with it. I want you there, which is all that matters. However, there's three weeks until Christmas so you have three weeks to think it over," Clare told him.

She nicked a fry off the plate and popped it into her mouth, grinning with the satisfaction that she had delivered a completely persuasive argument in her favor. As he gulped down the rest of his beer, a voice in the back of his mind whispered that she had. And he would spend the next three weeks preparing to see her family instead of preparing reasons why being alone was really the better option.

* * *

><p><em>Day Four Hundred Ninety-Five<em>

He was always going to wonder how a woman who was an entire foot shorter than him managed to wrangle him into situations he least wanted to do. Like watching the latest chick flick at the theater when all he wanted was to see blood and gore, car crashes and explosion flash across the silver screen. Or, following like a lost puppy dog as she traipsed through every shopping center in the greater Toronto to find the _perfect_ birthday gift for a sister who lived…wherever she lived. He had to make a mental note to ask her where exactly it was that Darcy Edwards currently resided.

However, nothing beat the latest thing she had gotten him to agree doing.

When she had brought up the matter of holiday plans and come up with the foolhardy idea of dragging him home with _her_, he had no problem firmly turning her down flat. Because if you really thought about it, what family wants to see their baby girl bring home a guy like Owen Milligan? So he had been just as adamant in his refusal as she was persuasive in her argument.

But as time went on, he found himself losing the fight. His responses to her steady inquiries started off with _no way in hell_ to simple and plain _no way_; from the indecisive _maybe_, _we'll see_ and _I'll try_ all the way to a begrudging _what time do I have to be ready_? He still swore she busted his eardrum with the shriek she let out with his acquiescence.

Now, it was Christmas morning and he was standing on the doorstep of Randall Edwards with the man's darling daughter at his side. And no matter how much ego-boosting self-talk he gave himself, he still felt like there were little people doing the Irish jig in his gut. Because in all his years of dating—and there were quite a few he was happy to confess—he had never done the meet-the-parents routine. Because he had never been the type of guy that made women stop in their tracks and say, "That's the man who is going to be my future husband. Mommy and Daddy are going to be so proud." This suited him fine because he had also never been the type of guy who searched for those types of women.

And he supposed this was his punishment for that. It had to be fate messing with him just a little bit because why else would he be in this exact situation with Clare Edwards of all people? He refused to admit that it could possibly be the fact that he had simply become a sucker for baby blue eyes.

He felt the wind being knocked out of him as well as a sharp pain his ribs, knowing that the combination could only have been delivered by a certain cinnamon-haired woman. "Damn it, Clare, watch the bony elbows," he hissed, rubbing the spot she had hit.

"Oh, good, you're back from lala land. Did you have a nice trip?" she replied, the sarcasm dripping from every word.

He belatedly noticed that the vehicle they were in had stopped moving and looked around at their surroundings, noticing that they were parked in front of a townhouse he'd never be able to afford even if he saved every paycheck for a year. "Clare—"

"Owen, I really don't get what's wrong with you. You've been acting like you clocked out since we got in the car to drive over here. I mean, you were fine last night with everybody. You even charmed my _mother_. What changed?" Clare demanded.

She had to be kidding, right? Last night they had been surrounded by so many people that it was hard to take a step without bumping into somebody. His family had only ever had a maximum attendance of eight, even at the finest of the Milligan celebrations. But from stepfamily to Jake's girlfriend and her family, from neighbors and friends who came and went at all hours to the church group who stayed the entire time, Owen had counted at least fifteen people in the house at any given moment.

And it had been easy charming Helen Martin. All he had had to do was offer to help clean up and she was beginning _to see just what had drawn Clare to him in the first place_. Didn't she get that meeting her father, actually having to sit down with him with an audience of only two other people, was going to be drastically different than meeting her mother in a party-type setting?

"Clare, this is your dad."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "So?"

Owen sighed, wanting to kick himself for getting lost in his own headspace and bringing on this conversation. "Clare, this is the man who is always going to think of you as his little girl. The man who is never going to think any guy is worthy of you. The man who probably has a shotgun locked away for instances like these."

A bark of laughter escaped her lips and her eyes twinkled with mirth. "Instances like these?"

"Yeah, you know…the ones where the darling daughter brings the bad boy home for the very first time. And all your dad can think of as you introduce us is how many bullets are already loaded and where he can hide the body," Owen explained, his tone intimating that it should have been obvious.

He shifted on his feet as laughter took over Clare's entire body, causing her torso to curl as she clutched her sides. It took a few moments for the giggles to subside, but she quickly straightened and inhaled deeply when they did. Although there was a smile still in place, he found it slightly more comforting than the over-the-top reaction he had initially received when he had voiced his concerns.

Owen found it even more comforting when she placed one hand on his shoulder and the other loosely grasped his own hand. "Owen, as for my dad dealing with me bringing home the _bad boy_, I think that that ship sailed the moment I introduced him to Eli Goldsworthy when I was fifteen. Second of all, if anyone in my family was going to shoot you on sight, it would've been my mother. Well, maybe my stepfather but that's because he never had a daughter until he married my mom so he tends to go a little far when stretching his protective muscles."

Clare let both of her hands fall from his body and turned to ring the doorbell. "And last of all, my dad couldn't shoot you if he wanted to because he doesn't actually own a gun. But keep an eye out for any knives coming your way."

The door opened just as she finished speaking the last word, revealing a middle-aged man wearing chinos and a Christmas-themed sweater. It only took one glance to know that he was Randall Edwards, the father of Clare Edwards, even with the receding hairline and slight belly that came with the progression of age. While pictures of Darcy had shown him just how greatly the older of the two sisters inherited their mother's more exotic genes, it was obvious that the standard girl-next-door appearance that Clare owned had come from their father. It also appeared that ice blue eyes were a family trait, not just a genetic fluke.

"Dad," Clare exclaimed brightly, dropping the shopping bags she carried and throwing her arms around the man's neck. Owen could see from his vantage point that Randall returned the embrace just as tightly as his daughter. "I've missed you, Dad."

"Oh, Clare-Bear, you have no idea how good it is to see you," Randall said, disengaging from her arms. "How is it that you grow more beautiful every time I see you?"

Clare's cheeks darkened to a shade of pale rose. "Dad, seriously—"

Owen shifted uncomfortably as her father turned his attention onto him, holding out his hand in welcome. "And I see you brought a friend with you this time. Randall Edwards, it's nice to meet you."

He took the proffered hand and gave it a solid shake. "Owen Milligan."

Recognition dawned in his eyes. "Ah, yes, you're the gentleman who lives next door to Clare. It's good to finally meet you."

"You too, sir."

"Well, come on in you two. Lauren has been over the moon since she found out you planned to spend the day with us. She even spent the morning preparing brunch for us and you know how she is when it comes to cooking," Randall told them with a wink, disappearing inside the townhouse.

Clare picked up her bags, pausing before following her father. "See, Owen, what'd I tell you? Meeting my dad was nowhere near as dramatic as you made it in your head. Today is going to be a piece of cake."

He grimaced slightly as she brushed past him. A piece of cake? Yeah, right.

_**To Be Continued…**_


	7. Chapter 6

_Edited June 17, 2012; 7:53 pm PST_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

_Day Five Hundred Eighty-Two_

If he could have guessed at anything that would interfere with his relationship with Clare, Owen would have put good money on it being another person. Well, another man to be exact since the women who came into his life hardly lasted long enough to make any real difference. So if he was a betting man—luckily for him, that was one thing he never became—he would have figured the odds of their friendship coming to an end would have to do with Clare meeting her Prince Charming.

However, there was no Prince Charming in sight the day irrevocable changes began to take place in his friendship with the cinnamon-haired woman. There was only his best friend, her best friend and a pair of half-filled suitcases lying open on her bed. There was only excited chatter and a frenzied woman haphazardly throwing her possessions inside the suitcases. The picture they presented telling him that he should have called before showing up to her apartment for their Monday night ritual of takeout and pay-per-view movies.

"What's going on?" he asked, his inquiry falling on deaf ears. He felt awkward standing in the doorway to her bedroom and it bothered him because it meant he was out of the loop and he had never been before. "Clare?"

He knew then that a hurricane was brewing on the horizon, one that would completely alter everything he had come to know. He knew it because his best friend, the woman who was never at a loss for words, couldn't seem to choke up a response as she stood there. And those blue eyes were wide with that deer in the headlights expression that he had never quite understood until right then.

Alli, never one for awkward silences, was the one to speak up. "Owen, Clare got an interview as the features editor at a startup magazine. Isn't that awesome?"

He should have felt some sort of excitement like Alli obviously did. An interview could lead to a better job that would take her away from the one she currently hated. She would no longer be the low man on the totem pole, writing stories given to her by a spiteful woman and caused her to be looked down upon by her colleagues. Clare would finally have the recognition that she deserved from the journalism community. And wasn't it the goal of most reporters to become an editor and, one day, ultimately run their own publication?

Although he should have felt pride in her accomplishment, all he could feel was worry and a bit sick to his stomach. Because there were suitcases and clothes going into them which meant that the interview was far enough that she needed both.

"I didn't know you needed to pack for a job interview," he managed to choke out. He winced at just how shaky his voice sounded to his own ears.

Alli obviously noticed the odd tone where her friend did not. She narrowed her eyes. "You do if the job is in Seattle."

He swallowed hard. _Seattle?_ "Why didn't you tell me you were looking for a job?"

Clare looked guilty. "I wasn't, well, not actively anyway. I mean, I've put some résumés out there—feelers, if you will, to see if anyone was hiring—but I never got any response. I didn't really expect I ever would."

"So how did you get the job interview?" Crap, now he sounded like a jealous boyfriend and from the crease between her brows, Clare obviously thought so too. He cleared his throat. "I mean—"

"I know what you meant." A soft smile cut some of the harshness from the statement. "It's actually a funny story. The guy starting the magazine is someone I went to school with. He was actually the editor of the school newspaper when I was started on it as a sophomore. He remembered some of my work back then, looked up what I've been doing now and just contacted me out of the blue. I guess he always thought I had a _promising career and future ahead of me so why not capitalize on it._ Those were his words, not mine."

"And now he wants to interview you," Owen surmised.

"Oh please," Alli exclaimed, ripping a dress from Clare's grasp and throwing it into a corner of the room. She proceeded to the open closet and began rifling through the garments. "The interview is just a formality and we all know it. The job is already in the bag."

Two rosy spots formed on Clare's cheeks and she pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Two signs that she was secretly embarrassed by Alli's overly confident tone of voice combined with the words that none of them could deny. "Alli, you don't know that. Joshua is just being nice by giving me a chance. I'm sure he has other interviews lined up for the job."

"Yeah, right, he's going to have you travel twenty-five hundred miles just to give you a chance. You got the job, sweetie, even if you don't realize it. _Ah-ha!_" She pulled out a crimson-colored sweater dress and denim jacket. "This is what you should wear."

Owen watched as Clare took the proffered items and folded them carefully for travel. How was it that she was standing in front of him but he could already feel her slipping away? "You going to take the job if it's a sure thing?" he inquired.

She paused, the expression on her face telling him that she had never even considered the idea. "I guess I…I don't know."

"I should let you get back to packing. We'll meet up when you come back."

He slipped out of her bedroom and headed back out of her apartment. Clare might not have known with any certainty what she was going to do. But Owen did. And that was what he was afraid of.

**- O-C –**

_Day Six Hundred Seven/Six hundred Eight_

Not even a month since finding out about the interview that would irrevocably change both the lives of his best friend and himself, Owen found himself immersed in Clare Edwards's _Bon Voyage_ party. And despite the fact that he would rather be anywhere else in the world, he knew that he had no choice but to show his support since she would not hesitate to do the same if the roles were reversed. Which was why he was sitting in a bar with a dozen of their closest friends, nursing his second beer as Clare and Alli downed their sixth shot of tequila and went on to make fools of themselves on the dance floor.

He wondered since finding out about the interview if he would have approached her that first day had he known he would grow closer to the woman than he had with anyone else in his life. If he would have given so much of himself to her if he had known she would wind up leaving not even two years later. Would he have relegated their relationship to the one that neighbors merely have, not stepping over that line of acquaintances? And if he had, would he have regretted that decision like he was regretting his current predicament?

"Owen," Clare called out, her voice slurred as she skipped over to him. He whirled around on his barstool and she came to stand between his legs, her hands coming up to land on his shoulders. He caught her gently around her waist when she swayed a little too hard on her heels. "Owen, are you having fun? I am."

"You're drunk."

Her eyebrows came together to form a crease above the bridge of her nose and she seemed ready to deny it before she shrugged. "I might be but only just a little bit."

"You need to go home and sleep it off."

"No, you need to come and dance with me."

"I don't dance, Edwards."

She scrunched her face as if what he said disturbed her. "But it's my party and I want you to."

"I think you've danced enough for both of us tonight." He reached up to take her hands into his and stood. "I'm taking you home now."

"But Alli—"

"I'll make sure she gets a ride home. But you're leaving."

He directed her out of the bar and to the parking lot, finding the task a bit harder with Clare giggling as she played with his ears and hair, making quick work of finding his car and unlocking the door. Once Clare was successfully deposited inside, he made his way back to the bar to fulfill his promise of finding Alli a designated driver for the night.

He walked over to a couple sitting at a table in the corner, his eyes straying to the woman grinding up against some unknown man. "Hey Eddie," he greeted them, smiling at the man's fiancée, Hannah, sitting beside him. "I'm going to take the guest of honor home."

"Yeah, she looked like she had a little too much fun with her friend," Eddie noted, glancing at the same scene Owen had witnessed.

"Do you think you could get Alli home? I kind of promised Clare that I would make sure that she was safe."

"I —"

"We'd love to, Owen," Hannah cut in. "You just take care of your girl."

He thanked them again and departed, anxious to get back to his car and the woman inside. He was worried about the amount of alcohol she had consumed and just what its effects would be, not only on Clare but on the interior of his car as well. Because he had learned at an early age that the smell lingered long after the vomit was cleaned up.

Relieved to find her apparently dozing in the seat, Owen unlocked his door and got into the car. He inserted the key into the ignition, started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. It was all but a ten minute drive but with the music playing and the scent of her shampoo mingling with the unmistakable scent of liquor, ten minutes easily felt as though it could have been ten hours. And when he parked the car in the usual space, he found that he had never been more relieved for a car ride to be over.

Getting out of the car and pocketing his keys, Owen jogged around to the other side of the car. He yanked open the door and unbuckled her seatbelt, gathering the sleeping woman into his arms. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty, time to get you to bed," he whispered, kicking the door shut behind him as he carried her to the apartment building.

While she wasn't what he considered heavy by any means, it was more than awkward carrying the dead weight during the short elevator ride and through the hallway that led to their apartments. Gently, he dropped her to her feet and leaned her up against the wall to be able to dig for the right key that would gain them entrance to her place. A job that would have gone over a lot easier if Clare would cooperate instead of just letting her body slump the moment he removed his arms.

"You're going to have go wake up, Edwards, so I can open the door. Do you think you can do that?" he cajoled, receiving a nonsensical moan in reply. He gave her a shake and placed his hands on either side of her face, her eyes slowly blinking open to reveal the crystal blue irises beneath her lids. "You think you can stand on your own so I can get the door open?"

Clare nodded tiredly, her body sagging against the wall but still supported by her feet. He made quick work of locating her apartment key, slipping it into the lock and pushing the door open. He drew the key back out of the lock and tucked it back inside his pocket.

When he turned his attention back to Clare, he found himself disconcerted to find her gaze fixated on him. Frozen where he stood, he could only blink as she took a few steps forward. "What—" The rest of the question was lost when her lips touched his.

Slowly, her lips massaged his despite his lack of response. It wasn't the most enticing of kisses; he had had better ones in his long history of romantic—and not so romantic—encounters, but he could feel his body reacting in ways it had never reacted before. He longed to take her in his arms and slam her against the wall, bringing the rating of their make-out session from PG to something closer to R, with no regard to the consequences that it would entail. He longed to wrap her body around his and continue the night in her bed or his.

However, the way her lips fumbled over his stopped him from taking that step over the line as did the scent of liquor still permeating the air.

Reaching up, he seized her arms and jerked her away from him. Her eyes were clouded but whether it was from lust or intoxication, he didn't have a clue. "Clare, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

The Clare he knew would have looked down in shame. The Clare he knew would have stammered over excuses and apologies over her behavior. But this was not the Clare he knew even though the vision she presented was just as alluring as the original. "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like?"

"Clare, you're drunk."

Clare giggled, holding her fingers up with just a space her pointer and thumb. "Maybe just a little bit," she admitted in a stage whisper.

"And that's why we shouldn't do this. You're not in your right frame of mind."

Clare laughed sardonically, a sound that originated deep in her throat and had to be one of the sexiest sounds he had ever heard. "My right frame of mind? And how exactly would you know what that is?" Her arms came up to lock around his neck. "Did you ever think I might want this? That I've been thinking about this for the last few months? I mean, there is a reason they say women and men can never be just friends."

With a groan, Owen closed the gap between them. The force in which he took her mouth with his was almost bruising, lips crashing with teeth, tongues battling for supremacy. How long had he actually been dreaming for this to happen? Not in these circumstances, of course, but to actually be feeling the woman in his arms and to have her touching him in a way that made his nerve endings feel as though they were on fire. And to not have to worry that it would all go up in smoke with the resounding ring of his alarm clock.

His hands drifted down her sides to her hips and past her hips to her thighs, tugging at them until the indication became clear and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Moaning at the heat that the intimate position created, Owen tore his lips from hers and nipped at her jaw before placing a series of tender kisses along the line that her jaw connecting with her neck created. When he had finished drawing a path from her lips to her ear and back again, he pulled away completely and was almost undone by the whimper that escaped her lips.

Pushing back strands of cinnamon hair, he made certain his eyes made direct contact with her. "You're sure about this?"

She leaned forward, capturing his lips for another tango that made him feel like his legs consisted of gelatin. No other words were spoken as they disappeared inside the apartment, Owen kicking the front door shut and proceeding to the room he had had fantasies about but never imagined would be a reality.

As he half-laid, half-threw her onto the bed, following not two seconds after, he ignored the niggling voice in the back of his head that told him this was all a mistake. Because for once in his miserable life, he was going to pretend life was going his way and this little piece of perfection was his on a permanent basis. Even if he knew to his core that it was all a lie.

**- O-C –**

He had been awake for hours, his eyes blinking open before the sun was even bright enough to pierce through the lace curtains in Clare's bedroom. With every other woman he had previously slept with, Owen could not wait to figure out some excuse to extricate his self from their arms and, ultimately, their beds. Call him cold or callous, but he had never understood the point of lingering by cuddling after the main event was finished. Or sticking around to reach that moment when nothing could fill the silence but awkward greetings followed by explanations that were even more awkward.

That was before he spent the night with Clare.

For some reason, he found he didn't mind the weight of her resting against his arm that was gradually falling asleep or the strands of her hair that were tickling his chest. He didn't mind the lingering scent of perfume mixed with the aroma produced by their previous night's actions nor did he mind the stickiness of the dried sweat on both their body. And he found that he definitely didn't mind the fact that she had held him in a vice-like grip most of the night or the feel of her breath ghosting over him from the sighs that escaped her lips while she dreamed.

Because with the sight of the creamy expanse of her back revealed by the sheet falling to her waist and the strange protective instinct that was being fed by the knowledge she had enough trust to be this intimate with him, he knew that he could stand all of that and more if it meant waking up to the same vision on a regular basis.

Clare began to stir as his fingers brushed the base of her spine and she turned to face him, the same blue eyes that he had spent a good amount of time staring into the previous night fluttering open. A shy but ultimately satisfied smile came onto her face and she grasped the top of the sheet, tugging on it until she was given a modicum of modesty before she snuggled closer to his side. It was a pity to cover up all that pale skin but he figured that it was wise to keep his mouth shut on that subject.

"Hey," she murmured, leaning forward the few inches to touch her lips softly to his.

Yeah, he could definitely stand to wake up to this every morning. "Good morning," he greeted her gruffly, running his fingers through the tangled mass of cinnamon waves.

"Mm, what time is it?"

Owen glanced at the clock on the nightstand behind her. "It looks like ten to one."

Her eyes widened almost comically. "Shit," she exclaimed, flinging the sheet off of them and jumping off of the bed. She ran over to the pile of clothes that appeared to be waiting for her on the chair in the corner, throwing on her undergarments followed by a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater. Stopping in front of the mirror, she let out a small scream and combed her fingers through her hair. "Alli is going to be here any minute and I have sex hair. I can't believe I have sex hair today of all days."

He should have found the uncharacteristic display of disarray and frenetic movement amusing but it was the panic that set him on edge. Standing, he wrapped the sheet around his waist and went over to seize one of her wrists, interrupting her frantic hair brushing. "Clare, what's going on?"

She jerked her hand out of his, returning to fixing her hair and throwing it into a ponytail. "Alli and Jake are going to be here any minute with the moving truck. I got to get ready."

Owen swallowed hard, watching as she continued to run around the room like a chicken with her head chopped off. The stark realization that their night was going to be a one-time deal and the dread that it entailed sank to the pit of his stomach like a stone. He swiped at her upper arm as she passed him, gripping it and successfully halting her motions.

"Clare, what's going on?"

"What's going on? Owen, I'm expecting them to be here in less than hour to get everything ready before Alli takes me to the airport. Which means I am incredibly late," Clare told him, trying to pull away but finding her strength to do so no match for his.

"You're still moving to Seattle?"

"Why would you think I wouldn't be?" Her eyes widened with comprehension. "You didn't think that…oh, God, you did. Owen, last night was great but…I don't think last night was the same for me as it was for you."

He dropped his hand as if her words had literally burned his fingertips. "Then what the hell was it for you, Clare?"

Clare shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I don't know. I guess it was just a bit of fun. You know…a proper goodbye between friends. It's just…you were standing there and I was feeling uninhibited from the alcohol. And being with you was all I could think of at that moment. But Owen, the moment's passed and we've got to move on. That means I've got to finish getting ready before my ride gets here."

"Damn it, Clare, is that really what all last night was to you?" he demanded, his voice filled with equal amounts of anger and incredulity. He took five or six steps back as though it physically hurt to be close to her. "Just a bit of fun to tide you over until you get to your new life?"

"I don't understand you, Owen. You've been with other girls for that same reason and it never bothered you. Why the hell is this so different?" Clare questioned.

"It just was, all right?" he yelled bitterly. Noting the obvious shock his words brought, Owen knew without a doubt that she wasn't ready to hear what he was dying to blurt out. He shook his head and began to gather his clothes that had been haphazardly strewn around the room the night before. Throwing on his boxers and jeans, he tossed the sheet back onto the bed and balled up his shirt. "Never mind, Clare, you're right. That's really what all last night was about."

"I'm sorry. I thought—"

Call him masochistic or a glutton for punishment but he couldn't walk out of the apartment without touching her one last time. Stepping forward until he stood directly in front of her, he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to brush his lips against her forehead. "You're going to be great, Edwards. Seattle won't know what hit it."

And with that, he turned and exited the apartment for the last time like the dogs of hell were nipping at his ankles.

_**To be continued…**_


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Day Six Hundred Ten_

"Owen, I just wanted to let you know that I've made it. I'm in Seattle and I'm all settled in. Just finished my first day at the new job and I got to say, it's pretty damn awesome. Call me back when you get this, okay?

**- O-C –**

_Day Six Hundred Twenty-Four_

"Owen, this is the sixth message I've left in two weeks. I'm starting to get worried. I know we didn't leave things on the best of terms but are you going to hold it against me forever? I thought we were friends. Owen…just give me a call to let me know you're still alive, all right?"

**- O-C –**

_Day Six Hundred Fifty-Four_

"Now I'm pissed off. You have no right to give me the silent treatment or whatever it is you think you're doing. It was _one night_, Owen. Are you really going to let it kill a year and a half of really good friendship? This isn't fair to me and I would _never_ do this to you. You're a jerk."

**- O-C –**

_Day Six Hundred Eighty-Three_

"I miss you. It's really fucked up that I'm in a new place where I have no one, all it does is rain here and my so-called best friend can't return my phone calls. It's really fucked up and I should hate you. But _I miss you_."

**- O-C –**

_Day Seven Hundred_

"I guess I need to work on getting hints sooner, huh? I get that you never want to talk to me again and I guess I'll have to be fine with that. I miss you and I wish I could hear your voice but that's just not going to happen, is it? I won't call you again. The ball is officially on your side now."

**- O-C –**

_Day Seven Hundred Thirty-One_

"I talked to Clare."

On today of all days, the second anniversary of his friendship with the girl that got away, the last person he wanted to see was the very same one that was accosting him in a bar. Especially since he was already half in the bag and had lost track of how many drinks he had actually downed. "Yeah?" he muttered, taking another sip from the highball of whiskey.

"She says you haven't been returning her calls." He shrugged his shoulders. "You know, she was worried you were dead on the side of the road."

"Nope," he confirmed, putting a _pop_ at the end of the word.

"She'll be thrilled to know that her friend is a jackass and not a corpse. Although, I believe she'd rather have the corpse," Alli said dryly. She picked up one of the empty glasses that had been discarded somewhere along the way, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of alcohol from the remnants in the glass. "And she might just get both if you keep it up."

Owen lifted his half-filled glass in a mock salute. "Here's hoping."

Alli sighed, taking a seat on a barstool next to him and signaling for the bartender. Once her drink order was in and a martini was sitting in front of her, Alli turned hardened eyes onto him. "Why haven't you at least texted the girl to let her know you're okay? She's in a new town, surrounded by strangers and the last thing she needs is to be worried about your ass. God, if you were any kind of friend—"

"If I was any kind of friend, what?" Owen demanded, his eyes glittering dangerously like two heated sapphires. "Don't stick your nose into business you don't know the first thing about."

"You seriously think I don't know what the hell is going on?" Alli hissed. "I know you gave into the sexual tension and slept with her the night before she left. I know that it was probably the best night of your life. You probably thought your future was all mapped out, she would stay and you'd get that fairytale ending. I know that she was torn up about leaving and cried the entire ride to the airport, trying not to call her new boss and turn the job of a lifetime down to run straight back to you."

"And if she was so torn up about it, why the fuck didn't she do just that?"

"Why should she? So you two could get married, have kids and then you could transfer the blame for your shitty life onto her?" Alli down the martini in one swallow and signaled for another. "I know you got your head so far up your ass that you can't see the light of day so let me enlighten you. You hate your life, Owen. You have a crappy job and a crappy boss and you blame the past for putting you in the situation you're in now.

"You didn't have money for anything more than a two year degree which put you in a cubicle for a company that doesn't even realize you exist. Well, except for human resources and only because they issue your bi-weekly checks. So you go in and bust your ass for some nameless face that wouldn't know you if he passed you by the water cooler. Am I getting it right so far? Poor little Owen Milligan, the man who settled for something instead of pushing for everything," Alli finished, popping an olive into her mouth and following it with the alcohol in her glass.

Alli laughed sardonically. "Clare is an amazing person. She will accept all your faults, support you until her dying breath and will even blame _herself_ when you start blaming her for things only _you_ can change. I wasn't about to let you drag her down. So, when she asked me point blank if taking the job was the best thing to do, I did not hesitate to say _yes_."

"You told her to go? She was going to stay? Why?"

"Because she doesn't deserve to have someone who is going to wind up resenting her in the long run and you don't deserve to have someone so _good_." Alli stood, placing a twenty on the top of the bar for her drinks. "Maybe you will one day, I don't know. But it's not going to happen by avoiding her calls and drinking away your sorrows. All that's going to do is make room for another man who knows her worth to move in. And trust me, he _will_ move in."

Alli slipped off the barstool, leaned over and placed her lips only inches from his ear. "The truth is that I am rooting for the two of you. You could possibly be just what she's needed, what Eli and Jake and all the others lacked. Just…not right now," she whispered, whirling around and exiting as quickly as she had appeared.

When the bartender came over to refresh his drink, Owen paid the bill and walked out of the bar instead.

**- O-C –**

_Day Seven Hundred Forty-Four_

**From: Clare Edwards **_**edwardsc  
><strong>_**To: Owen Milligan **_**owenm1993  
><strong>_**Subject: What the hell?**

_It's been almost five months since you've talked to me and your only words are a text message saying _I quit._ What the hell is up with that? I mean, was picking up the phone just a little too difficult? Or were you just afraid that I would pick up and want to have an actual conversation with you?_

_It's all whatever at this point. Just know that I'm pissed off at you and while I hope everything works out, I'm done. I can't have a one-sided friendship._

_Good luck and best wishes,  
>Clare<em>

- **O-C –**

_Day Seven Hundred Seventy-One_

He never thought he would be back in this place. _Degrassi Community School,_ with its glass front and high-tech media room, was every bit as cutting edge as it had been when he walked the halls as a student. And with its yellow and blue lockers lining the walls along with the classrooms that could be in any school around the world, it was as much of a throwback to simpler times as it was modern.

"Mr. Milligan," a voice called out. Owen turned to watch the man who had once been his principal approaching, obviously aged like him but still retaining enough of his youth to make him instantly recognizable. The man who had once been the bane of his teenage existence offered a hand which Owen warily took. "It's good to see you."

"You too, Mr. Simpson," Owen replied, surprised to find that he actually meant it. Time had obviously softened him and he wasn't too certain he liked it. He cleared his throat. "Why did you want to meet with me?"

"You're not a student anymore. You can call me Archie." Archie led him to the cafeteria that was only occupied by the janitorial staff, taking a seat at one of the tables nearest to the door and indicating for Owen to do the same. "I usually have people see me in my office or meet with me over coffee at the _Dot_ but this just happened to be more convenient."

"You're not really explaining why we're meeting in the first place."

Archie chuckled. "I guess not. Well, I wanted to speak to you about some things I've been hearing."

And there it was. The words that made him feel like he was still that teenage troublemaker being sent to the principal's office. "Hearing?" he croaked out, swallowing hard.

"I hear you've been asking around for a coaching and/or teaching position."

Owen breathed a sigh of relief. "I might have been. How did you hear about it? I haven't even tried applying here."

"Let's just say that you learn more about what's going on when you're in charge of an entire district and not just a school. And one of my former students might have made me aware of the situation," Archie replied. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. "I have to ask though. Why haven't you tried to put in your résumé at Degrassi?"

"Part of it was that I figured you were still the principal and I thought I'd be the last person you'd want to hire," Owen confessed. "But most of it was that I thought Coach Armstrong still held the position."

Archie smiled. "Coach Armstrong is no longer working at Degrassi and hasn't for the last two years. He's head of the athletic division for the district now."

"Well, I'm sure his position has been filled since then."

"You would think that but no. We had a promising replacement but he went on to be the assistant basketball coach at TU at the end of last year. We interviewed multiple people since but they lacked the well-rounded skills needed to coach more than just a single sport or they weren't qualified to teach as well. So, we've had to make due with temporary substitutes for the time being," Archie explained. "To be honest, we might have to shut down the entire program if we're unable to find a permanent replacement."

No sports program at Degrassi Community School? He couldn't be seriously considering that. "And what would you be looking for in a new hire? I mean, I do have my teaching certificate but depending on the subject matter that I would need to teach, I don't know if I would be qualified."

"Coach Armstrong taught most of the health-oriented classwork as well as some of the math courses. A full-time math teacher has been hired on this year so it would be the anatomy and basic health you would be in charge of," Archie informed him. "Both of which were part of your university studies and where you excelled, if I'm not mistaken."

"You're not."

"You think you'd be able to begin October first? It'd be a bit odd starting on a Tuesday but I think a week to prepare is fair, don't you?"

"Wait, what exactly are you saying?"

"The coaching position is yours."

Owen let out a laugh of disbelief. "But don't you need to see my résumé and hear my references? What about an interview?"

"What do you think this was?" Archie chuckled and stood from the table. "If I didn't think you could handle the job, I never would have called you down here. Anyway, be here Monday afternoon around four and we'll get all the paperwork handled."

This time when Archie Simpson offered his hand, Owen was more than happy to stand and take it. "Thank you for the opportunity, Mr.—I mean Archie. But I have to ask, who was it that told you I was looking around for a job?"

"Let's just say that the world of law is lucky that Miss Bhandari chose to go into fashion. See you Monday, Mr. Milligan."

**- O-C –**

**From: Owen Milligan **_**owenm1993 **_**  
>To: Clare Edwards <strong>_**edwardsc  
><strong>_**Subject: Good news**

_Clare_

_So I know you don't want to hear from me and it's entirely my fault that we don't have any type of friendship right now. But I have some news and you're really the only person I want to tell. _

_I got a job. It's a job that I actually want to go to every day and what's more, it's a coaching position at Degrassi. Can you believe it? I can't and I was the one who met with Simpson today._

_You remember Simpson? He's head of the entire district now. I didn't even know why he wanted to meet with me, thought maybe he found out something I did when I was a student and wanted to punish me for it now. You know those old insecurities and all that garbage. I didn't even know he was interviewing me until he said that I was to start work October first._

_Imagine that, huh?_

_Owen_

_**To be continued…**_


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_Day Eight Hundred Nine_

"Owen, over here," he heard the moment he walked through the door of the bar.

Scanning faces that were unrecognizable in masks that celebrated the costumed holiday, his eyes landed on a table near the back. Alli Bhandari, dressed to the nines as Cleopatra's doppelganger, distinguished herself from the rest of the crowd by her commanding presence alone. The fact that she could pull off looking like the famed Egyptian queen like it was simply another day at the office set her even further apart from the rest of the bar's patrons.

He reached the table in record time despite being waylaid by drunk, tipsy and sober people alike. He shook hands with Eddie, kissed Hannah on the cheek and briefly embraced the miniscule woman that had been his best friend's best friend. The same best friend's best friend who was beginning to resemble a little sister to him, something he would have scoffed at not too long ago if someone had come along and predicted it happening.

"You look tired," Alli noted, pouring him a glass of beer from the pitcher that table shared.

"Back-to-back practices all week to prepare for tomorrow's homecoming game and sixty graded tests will do that to a guy," Owen replied, taking a seat at the table with an exhausted sigh. "What's the excuse for the bags under your eyes?"

"Incredibly finicky client who swears she knows everything there is to know about fashion and what I know wouldn't even fit into a thimble," Alli grumbled, throwing back a shot of clear liquid the entire table knew to be tequila. "I _hate _television divas, especially ones who were once on a top-rated show like _Rossi High._"

"Well, it was pretty much a cultural icon," Hannah pointed out. "God, I remember dying if I wasn't able to catch it every Friday night. And I remember breaking a few dates here and there just to see if Elliott and Blair were going to make it. And then there was Damon, who I swore didn't get the screen time that he deserved. Wasn't he just the sweetest to Anita?"

"What about Cali and Steve? I still can't believe he cheated on her with that one girl. And the entire one-eighty the writers did to Finn's character."

"Oh, dear God, they're losing all sense of reality," Eddie groaned. "Quick, Owen, talk about football or pool or anything else that isn't going to wreak havoc on my manhood."

"You better just watch it, mister, or I'm dropping you off at your mother's house on the way home," Hannah warned, delivering a pinch to Eddie's side that caused him to wince.

"Oh honey, you know I'm kidding. You know I wished Blair would have ended up with Damon as much as you do," he cajoled, kissing the side of his fiancé's head.

Hannah rolled her eyes but it seemed that Eddie was safe for the night. Standing, she pulled him to his feet. "Come on, lover boy, let's dance."

Eddie chuckled, letting his fiancé precede him and join the crowd in the center of the bar. "Don't tell Hannah, but I really did want Blair and Damon to get together," he said before following his wife's footsteps.

Owen shook his head as he watched the couple on the dance floor. "He really is whipped, isn't he?"

"Nah, he's just a guy in love." He recognized the quiet longing her dark eyes as she watched people pairing off on the dance floor but chose wisely to keep it unspoken. "So, I heard from Clare a few days ago."

"Oh?" This was an unexpected twist in the conversation. It wasn't that it bothered him to talk about her exactly. It was just a bit shocking to have Alli bring her name up so casually, especially since she knew that there had been no response to the e-mail sent a month prior. He reached for his glass of beer and took a long drag of the amber liquid to relieve his suddenly dry throat. "How's she doing?"

Alli shrugged. "She's tired of all the rain and exhausted from all the hours she's been putting in. But overall, she's okay."

"Well, that's good. So she's enjoying her job?"

"It sounds like it. Look, Owen, I know the two of you still aren't talking but we've sort of gotten to be friends so I thought I should tell you," Alli started, her fingers tracing the logo on one of the beer glasses as her tongue and lips stumbled over the forming words.

"Alli—"

She turned her eyes onto him and he was taken aback by the intensity in the dark orbs. "Clare's vacation is coming up and she's coming back for the first week in December. December first though the ninth, to be exact."

The news was like a punch in the gut. The multitude of thoughts that ran through his mind filtered through so quickly and held such an impact that it was as though they were attached to a freight train. A giant freight with a picture of Clare attached to the steam engine and every possible outcome that seeing each other would bring pasted on each of the cars.

Swallowing hard against the lump forming deep in his throat, he picked up his glass again and drained three-quarters of the liquid before he felt like he had the capability to speak again. "That's good. The first week of December has always been her favorite. She should spend it with her family."

"Owen—"

He shook his head, shaking off the placating tone and any explanations she could possibly give or sympathies she would bestow. "No, Alli, this is a good thing. I'm glad she's visiting. I know you've missed her so I'm sure her parents have missed her even more so."

"But what about you, Owen?" she asked.

"What about me? Look, I don't even think she'll want to see me so there's nothing to worry about." He finished his beer, stood and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. "It's going to be okay, Alli. I'm going to be okay. You shouldn't worry so much."

"Owen—"

"I said I'll be fine. Now, I got to get home. The big game is tomorrow, you know. Will I see you there?"

Alli sighed. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be on a Friday night."

He waved at Eddie and Hannah, still showcasing their moves on the dance floor, before escaping from the suffocating atmosphere inside the bar. Once outside, he filled his lungs with the crisp autumn air and let out a slow exhale to calm his raw nerves. The last thing he had needed to hear on the night before one of the most important games in his career was that _she_ was returning.

God, why did she have to choose to return now of all times? He was finally getting his life together, finally becoming the person he should have been years before Clare had stepped into his life. He could finally look at himself in the mirror and not cringe at what reflected back. And he was finally succeeding in being able to push her to back of his mind so not every sound, smell and, God forbid, touch brought him back to that one night.

To have her come back when he was teetering on the edge of that line that separated the improved Owen from the old one was practically cruel and unusual punishment.

But he had assured Alli that he would be okay and that he was good with the knowledge that Clare would be sharing the same city's air in a month's time. However, making someone else believe that and forcing himself to believe it were two entirely different matters altogether.

* * *

><p><em>Day Eight Hundred Forty-Seven<em>

He had done his best to avoid Clare Edwards during the week that he knew she was in town. It wasn't too hard doing so between midterms and the hockey playoffs that his team had qualified for—the first time the Degrassi team succeeded in making them since Owen himself was a member. The fact that his brother was in town visiting at the same time made it that much easier to keep scarce.

So when he decided to go to the bar for a few drinks, he figured it would be the last place he would find her. Especially since she was flying home the next day and from his experience, alcohol never mixed well with flying if you wanted to remain alert. But there she was, sitting at the counter and appearing to be in deep conversation with the bartender.

He could have turned around and headed right back out of the establishment with Clare none the wiser, if only that wasn't the coward's way out. And Owen was a lot of things but the one thing he had never been was a coward. Taking a deep breath in, he solidified his fortitude and made his way to the stool right next to the one she was sitting on.

"Long time no see, Edwards." She turned to face him, blue eyes startled and a tenuous smile on her face. "Are you going to give me a hug or what?"

She seemed to relax at the question, standing and wrapping her arms around his neck. He placed his around her waist, holding her firmly against him and breathing in the familiar scent of vanilla shampoo mixed with the floral perfume worn so lightly that it was barely noticeable. When she pulled out of his embrace, he let his eyes wander over her blue jean and sweater-clad form.

It was a comfort to know that despite all the changes in his life as of late, one thing still remained the same.

"You've been hiding from me," she said once they were both seated. "And don't try to pretend you were too busy because I know when you're lying to me."

It should have been disconcerting that she knew him so well but it just added to the level of comfort she provided just by being her. "I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"You think you know me so well. One of the reasons I chose to come to Toronto for my vacation instead of some other glamorous place was to see you," she informed him. "I mean, Alli keeps me pretty up to date but hearsay and knowing firsthand are two different things."

"What do you want to know?"

Clare shrugged. "How's life been treating you? How's the job going? Are you happy?"

"Good, better and…" he swallowed, "…I guess I am."

"That's really good, Owen. You deserve to be happy."

"You always believed that, didn't you?"

"Why wouldn't I have believed that? Owen, for a time I considered you to be one of my closest friends. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't believe that my friend deserved every bit of happiness the world could give him?" she replied.

"Then why did you leave? You have to know that you made me happier than anyone has ever done before."

She ducked her head, suddenly finding more interest in the napkin her drink sat on for the moment. The silence between them became almost unbearable and when she finally did speak, her voice was so quiet that he had to lean forward to hear her words. "Because I didn't want to be the one responsible for your happiness."

Owen drew back as though she had struck him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She looked up, her eyes meeting his with an intense sadness he had never seen directed towards him. "Every guy I've ever been with has relied on me to make them feel what they needed to feel. With KC it was normalcy and Eli craved that control his illness wouldn't allow. Jake…well you know that Jake has always been that solid, responsible boy-next-door type so a relationship with me gave him that element of danger. And Austin—the last serious relationship I had before returning to Toronto—was all about having an image of perfection to hide what was a pretty flawed character.

"I was happy to be whatever they needed at the time because that's who I am, Owen. I am the woman who sacrifices my needs and desires so others receive theirs. But I didn't want it to be like that with you. I knew how unhappy you were with life and the directions it had taken you. If we would've gotten together that night, you would've been happy for a while but then life would have gotten in the way again. And I didn't want to be the one you blamed when it all went to shit," Clare explained.

"Wow," was all he could say that to that. He understood where she was coming from but soon, understanding gave way to the anger and annoyance that he felt due to the fact that she deemed herself to responsible for just how and what he felt. "You know what, Clare? With all that worrying, you never even thought to give us a _chance_. You must think pretty damn highly of yourself to believe that you're the one control of how everyone is feeling."

"Owen, I—"

"How do you even know what would have happened between us?" Owen demanded. "You must have forgotten to mention that you had a crystal ball stashed away."

"That's not fair, Owen."

"You know what's not fair, Clare? What's not fair is having my best friend turn tail and run off the very next day after we slept together. What's not fair is being treated like an afterthought when it was one of the most amazing nights of my life. What's not fair is having you two thousand miles away, then having you act like you're still next door and nothing has changed between us," he said, venom filling every word he spoke.

"Nothing had to change if you had answered one damn email or returned a fucking phone call or two," she spat. "You think I am so off base because I believed you would blame me if our relationship ended up going to shit. Well, look at us now, Owen. We're not even together and it's _still_ my fault."

And the realization that Clare was actually right in everything she had said hit him like a pile of bricks. Instantly, the anger faded and regret took its place. "Clare, I'm—"

Clare shook her head and held up a hand to silence him. "Another reason I came here was to tell you that I met someone. It's not serious or anything but the fact is that it could be and I thought you should know."

Was it a pile of bricks that had hit him? Or was it a pile of boulders? "Alli didn't mention you were dating anybody."

"That's because I didn't tell her. I didn't figure a few coffees, a couple of lunch dates and a dinner were worth mentioning when I don't even know if it's going to be more," she said.

"So why are you telling me?"

"Because of that twenty-five percent chance that it _could_ be more."

She was officially moving on and it was entirely his fault. Alli had even warned him of the happenstance but he had taken the warning with only a grain of salt and the actual occurrence was the result of his ignorance. If he could turn back the clock and just return _one_ of her phone calls…well, there was no use dwelling on what could have been when reality was smacking him in the face. He would just have to suck it up if he wanted a chance of having any type of relationship with the woman from that day forward.

"Who is he?"

"It's just freelance photographer who has been doing a lot of work for the magazine lately." She forced a smile onto her face. "I think you'd really like him. He's funny, charismatic, intelligent, creative and so completely laid-back that it's a wonder he gets any work done at all. Although the work he does is just…amazing. And he's really into sports and travel as well as art and literature."

"It sounds like you've already decided what you want."

Clare shrugged. "I guess I have."

And it was at that exact moment that he knew he had lost her for good. He stood from the stool, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm glad everything worked out for you. I got to get going. It's a school night, you know?"

She grasped his hand. "Are we going to be okay, Owen?"

He loosened his hand from her grip and brought it up along with the other to frame her face, bending to kiss her once more but on the forehead. "Just…call me when you get back to Seattle. I promise to answer this time."

Owen turned and walked away; cursing his rotten luck and wishing, not for the first time, that he could have been a little more successful at avoiding Clare Edwards.

_**To be continued…**_


	10. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine**_

_Day Nine Hundred Fifteen_

There were a number of reasons Owen hated Valentine's Day. The over commercialization, the way people acted like they had their heads in the clouds and going out with some stranger just to say they had someone to share the holiday with. However, one of his best friends had given him a reason to actually enjoy the day despite all the reasons he had to hate the manufactured holiday.

Eddie had chosen that day to make Hannah his wife.

Speeches were finished, the cake devoured, garter belt thrown and bouquet tossed. As part of the wedding party, his photograph had been taken multiple times in numerous places and it had only ceased because the photographer had packed up his things. All that was left of the evening was drinking, dancing and the general camaraderie that came whenever groups of people gathered together for such an ostentatious event.

Swallowing what was left in his glass of champagne, Owen scanned the faces milling about. Most were familiar as they were shared acquaintances between him and the happy couple but the few belonging to the bride's extended family were strangers. From his understanding, they had flown in from Ottawa, London and the States and for some of them; this was their first trip to Toronto. He had to wonder if his family would make such an effort if he ever chose to take the leap into marriage.

He chuckled softly. If they did choose to do so, it would be to take bets on how long the marriage would actually last.

Finally, his eyes landed on the woman that he was surprised had garnered an invitation. Why he was so surprised he wasn't exactly certain. After all, she had become pretty good friends with the bride before leaving. And he had it on good authority that they still talked periodically on the phone. He guessed that it was just a jolt to his system to find her name on the guest list a month prior when Eddie came to him and Alli, stressing out because he had been put in charge of the seating arrangements and he couldn't remember who hated who.

But invited she was and he kept his gaze concentrated on her as she sat with Hannah. He never got over how easily it was for women to fall into easy companionship, a friendship that was barely yearlong appeared to outsiders as though it had lasted more than a decade. He also never got over how easily the two women could be mistaken for sisters with their peaches-and-cream complexions, varying shades of cinnamon hair and crystalline blue eyes. Added in the fact that they shared much of the same sense of humor and interests and one had to wonder if there was a shared ancestor somewhere within their family trees.

"Why don't you go ask her to dance?" Owen turned to find the blonde-haired, brown-eyed groom standing behind him. "We all know you want to."

He hated having friends who knew him so well. For years, he had been satisfied with simple acquaintances that wouldn't give a damn what happened to him. Let alone what he wanted or what he was feeling on any given day. Sure, he had his boys back in high school but as an adult he had chosen to keep a certain amount of distance between himself and other people. It was funny how one simple friendship with a woman changed that aspect of his life as well.

"You're just saying that because you want your bride back."

"Well, she has been spending most of our reception with everybody but me."

Owen chuckled. "You knew the woman was a social butterfly when you married her."

"Yeah, but it's our wedding day." There was a hint of a whine in Eddie's voice that caused Owen to chuckle again. "I thought she'd be able to put those tendencies on hold for a little while so we can spend one of the most important days of our lives together."

"I assumed it was the night that was the most important. My mistake," Owen gibed.

Eddie rolled his eyes and his cheeks became tinged with pink. "Will you just go dance with the woman so I can dance with my bride?"

"Don't worry, Eddie," Owen cajoled, patting the man on the back. "Soon it'll _just_ be the two of you, she'll be nagging you about one thing or another, and you'll be wishing you hadn't taken today for granted."

"You're a funny man, Milligan, really funny," Eddie yelled sarcastically to Owen's retreating back.

Owen shook his head, laughing, as he made his way to the pair of women deep in conversation. "Am I interrupting?" he inquired, resting a hand on the back of the bride's chair.

Hannah raised her head, her eyes sparkling with mirth as they met his. He leaned down, kissed the woman on the cheek and nodded a greeting at the other woman. "No, you're not. Clare was just telling me stories. Did you really pretend to be her boyfriend to get her away from a less than stellar blind date?"

"A few times," Owen concurred. "Which story is she telling you about now? The time when I acted like she was the cheating wife and I was Mr. Mom or when I pretended to be the jealous boyfriend fresh out of prison?"

"P-prison?" Hannah sputtered, squealing with fresh laughter. She tilted her head to the side and scrutinized his appearance. "Although, you may be cleaned up now but I can understand how that would be a convincing story."

"Thanks, Hannah, nice to know how you really think of me." Owen met Clare's eyes, sharing a secret smile with his partner-in-crime and snickering. If he had to be in the hot seat, it was only fair that she had to be too. "But Clare got me out of a blind date or two as well. Did she tell you about when she convinced a woman that she was my parole officer?"

Hannah gasped. "Clare, you didn't."

"I might have thrown in that he was a fugitive wanted for questioning regarding his ex-girlfriend's disappearance," Clare conceded, blushing at the memory.

"Oh Lord, that poor woman must've been frightened out of her mind."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't of had to go through such drastic measures if she hadn't been such a stalker. She had Owen's schedule down pat and knew every detail of their impending non-existent nuptials. She was even convinced that she knew what their children would be like and what she'd name them. And they had only gone on like four date," Clare explained. "That woman was a certifiable nut job."

"She sounds like it." Hannah smiled and turned her attention back up to Owen. "But you didn't come over here to share old stories with us, did you?"

"It's scary that you know me so well. I actually came over because I owe the woman next to you a dance," said Owen, stretching out his hand for her to take. "How about it, Edwards, you want to take a spin around the dance floor?"

Clare looked over his shoulder at the rapidly approaching groom, nodding in acquiescence and taking the proffered hand to allow him to pull her out of her chair. "It was nice talking to you, Hannah. If I don't see you before either of us leave, give me a call after your honeymoon."

Hannah nodded. "I'll make sure of it."

Owen led the woman to the center of the dance floor where he kept his hold of her hand and placed the other on her lower back, leading her to put her free hand on his shoulder. They moved awkwardly together for a few short moments, their movements reminiscent of those found at a sixth grade dance, before they shared a laugh and relaxed to find their rhythm. Soon, it was as though no time had passed and they were able to glide around the floor as one.

"So—" he cleared his throat "—you didn't bring the boyfriend."

The statement was posed more like a question, causing Clare to quirk a brow in response. "Dimitri was planning on it but he had a last minute assignment come up that took him to London. A good thing, I guess, since I fly out on the first flight tomorrow morning."

Dimitri Maheras, the man she had briefly discussed with him during her visit in December, had officially become relationship material when she returned to Seattle two days following. The photographer had been spoken about many times but Owen had yet to meet the man or even hear his voice over the phone. All that was really known about him other than his career was that he was from San Francisco; his grandparents were immigrants from Greece and his parents ran the family restaurant along with his two older sisters.

He was also tall and good-looking with strong Mediterranean features. The only thing that kept Owen from truly hating the stranger on those basic qualifications alone was that he treated Clare the way she deserved. However, he still wanted that face-to-face conversation with the man who had swept his friend off her feet just to be certain that the man was on the up-and-up.

"Aw, that's too bad." His less than sincere tone of voice used to commiserate earned him an eye roll and a quiet guffaw that was filled with barely concealed skepticism. Owen cocked his head to the side. "You don't think I mean it?"

Clare shook her head side-to-side. "I know you too well."

He pushed her out of his arm to twirl her before pulling her back to their original position. "Well, maybe you're right. But I did want to meet him. Have to make sure he's good enough for you and all."

"I think he is," she said, allowing him to twirl her again followed by a dip. "It's still a relatively new relationship though. We've only been seeing each other…a little less than three months?"

"You sound a bit uncertain about that."

Clare hummed her answer, her eyes scanning the couples surrounding them. A smile came onto her face when they fell upon one in particular. "So when did that happen?"

Owen spun them so he could see the same sight as she was viewing. "Alli and Dave?" he asked. She nodded. "You know she broke up with that junior professor about a month and a half ago, right? Well, he was supposed to be her date for the wedding. About a week later, she bumped into Dave at her usual coffee shop where they got to talking. One thing led to another and another and before anyone knew it, he was her date for tonight."

"She didn't tell me."

"It was so new that she didn't want to jinx it."

"We used to tell each other everything," Clare murmured, her gaze downcast. "We never worried about jinxing things when we shared our innermost secrets. Now you know everything that I should and you hated each other a year ago."

He furrowed his brow, concern over her sudden depression that overwhelmed the easy companionship they had been experiencing. Disengaging from the dance, he grasped her hand in a firm grip and began to weave through the couples still on the floor until they had exited the ballroom as well as the hotel itself. Finding a bench just outside the door, he led her over to where it stood and pushed her down gently.

Sitting beside her, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and allowed her to snuggle into his side. "Clare, you had to know everything was going to change when you moved. Even the close relationship you had with Alli."

Clare shrugged dejectedly. "I knew but I guess I didn't _really_ know, you know?"

"You're going to have to explain a little further, Edwards."

She looked at him; eyes that shined with unshed tears almost appeared to be two bottomless pools of blue. "I love my job, Owen. And I kind of like living in Seattle, even with all the rain. But I miss Toronto, my family and my friends. No matter how much time passes, I just can't think of another city as _home_. And no matter how great of a guy Dimitri is, he's just not _you_."

Her words felt like a sucker punch to the gut. It had been difficult but he was starting to move on with his life and he had been pretty certain that she was doing the same. Now it seemed that she was returning at least _some_ of his feelings, just in time for her to have some of those same feelings for some other guy who still remained faceless in Owen's mind.

Why was it that they always seemed to be on two separate wavelengths? Why did they always move two steps forward in their relationship only to be knocked back five? Why couldn't the dance they were immersed in be a bit closer to a smooth waltz instead of a complicated tango?

Owen swallowed, wanting nothing more than to give into the desire to fulfill just _one more_ _fantasy_. But he knew that going back down that path would be detrimental to the still shaky footing their friendship was standing on. And he knew that there was no way that either of them would survive the blow that would come when she irrevocably returned to Seattle. It was her home now, after all. No matter how much she wished it wasn't.

"Clare, you can't do this."

"What?" She looked up at him, her face stricken by his words. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"You can't blow through town, lay this at my feet and think that we can go back to how things are if we act on whatever feelings we're having." He swallowed again, the lump in his throat refusing to disappear. "We tried that once, remember? And it nearly killed me."

"I wasn't…I didn't…that wasn't what I was trying to do."

"So you weren't trying to use me to alleviate some of the guilt you've been carrying because you can't be around like you used to? And you weren't trying to use me to fill a certain void because you've been homesick?" Red seeped across her cheeks and her gaze became focused on her lap. "You don't know how much I wish I could be _that guy_ again but let's face it. I'm not him anymore. I can't just spend the night with you and then act like it means nothing the next morning. I can't be the one who satisfies that temporary need and fills that empty space for a few hours until a better offer comes along."

He hadn't even realized that she had started crying until he saw her hand come up to swipe at her cheeks and he pulled her even closer to him. There was a great amount of guilt to be had for causing her tears—he had promised once to never be the one to make it happen—but he knew that everything he was saying had to be said despite the pain it caused to both of them.

"When we spend another night together, Edwards, it's going to be because we are both on the same page. It's not going to happen because I'm scared to let you go or because you're lonely and missing your old life. There won't be a Dimitri or some other person in the picture. When we sleep together again, it's going to be just us in each other's lives and it's going to be because we both want the same thing," Owen stated determinedly.

"Oh, yeah?" She raised her head to look at him. "And what exactly would that thing be?"

He hesitated slightly, knowing that the answer would bare his soul more than he had ever done before. "A future together," he finally answered. "It'll happen when we decide that the only thing we're ever going to want or need again is a future together."

_**To Be Continued…**_


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_Day One Thousand Thirty-Four_

The school year was officially at an end. And while it would have been a joyous occasion many years before, it was now bittersweet for Degrassi's newest coach slash health teacher. It was a comfort knowing that his time was his own for the next six weeks before football tryouts decided his new team, a month long training camp began and his days became filled with training hormonal teenage boys from dawn to dusk. However, it was a bit depressing to know that half his original team had graduated and would not be around come fall when the new season began.

He wondered if other teachers were ever caught in this same conundrum. If they experienced this same mind-numbing sensation that had come over him as he idly mused what would happen to the students he saw day in and day out, wondering if he had been a source of inspiration to any of them and, if he had, if that inspiration would be carried throughout their lives. Or, would they forget him as time passed by, only to bring up his name in passing conversation as they recollected their teenage years.

He had to wonder if any of his own teachers had sat in their offices on the last day of the school year like he was sitting on the deserted outdoor bleachers, wondering the same things about him as he was about his own students. Would he run into any of them in a decade like he had run into Archie Simpson? And would he be the one offering them a way out of their miserable lives and the chance to become their best possible versions like the former principal had done for him?

Owen ran a frustrated hand through his hair. This was only supposed to be a job. When all was said and done, he was just supposed to go on with his life and be happy that he had money in the bank. He was supposed to be satisfied that this chosen career meant job security doing something he enjoyed. He wasn't supposed to get emotionally involved or ask philosophical questions because of it. He wasn't supposed to actually _care_.

But those students, with partial innocence still intact and their eyes shining with such…possibility, had wormed their way into his soul. With their dreams that were still unrealized and all the potential they had yet to tap into, they had made themselves so much a part of his life that it would be an impossibility to turn away even if he wanted to. And the true heart of the matter was that this was the one area in his life that he didn't want to turn away from.

"Hey Coach." He looked down at the brunette climbing the steps to his position halfway up the bleachers. She shuffled in between his row and the next, sighing tiredly and plopping down when she finally reached him. "You know everyone is looking for you, right?"

"I know. I just…"

"You needed time to get your head on straight?" Owen nodded and she smiled in understanding. "Well, I guess this would be the best place for that. I forgot how peaceful this place could look…and just how many memories I've been trying to forget."

"If the walls could talk they'd talk your ear off."

"But oh, the stories they would tell. Clare wrote that when she was a senior. Principal Simpson asked her to write the forward for the yearbook and she chose to write a poem about our school watching us as we passed through it," Alli told him. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. "But the question is; how do you know that poem?"

"Are you kidding? Smart, pretty and talented, she quickly became Tristan's idol. One of the only reasons he bought a yearbook that year was to have a copy of that poem. And he recited it every chance he got," Owen replied. "I only remember a few lines but I bet my brother still knows the entire thing by heart."

"Wow, I didn't know Clare made such an impact on anybody back then," Alli murmured, a thoughtful look on her face. She shook her head to knock herself out of her reverie. "Anyway, I actually came to see you because I had some really good news and some not-so-good news to share with you."

"You know that's a really bad entry to the _good news, bad news_ speech, don't you?"

Alli shrugged. "I'll work on my openings in the future."

"See that you do."

"Owen, seriously, I came here to tell you something that I thought you'd want to hear." Alli sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly to tamp down the irritation that sometimes came when talking to the slightly older man. "It's about Clare."

Owen groaned. It always took a few days and shots of the good stuff before he was able to get in the right head space following whatever news Alli announced about their mutual friend. "What is it this time? You know we've been talking again every day now, right? So what could she have shared with you that she couldn't share with me?"

"Well, Dimitri asked her to move in with him."

So that was that. As much as he thought his friendship with Clare was as close to their original relationship as possible, she still didn't trust him or his reactions enough to let him in on what would be a life-changing event. "I see how that could fit into your good news, bad news scenario. I'm not sure which category that actually falls into though."

"That's the bad news. The fact that she turned him down would be the good news."

She said it so quickly, so casually, that he had to do a double take. "She turned him down?"

Alli nodded in confirmation. "She told him that she wasn't ready to take that step. He said if she wasn't ready now then he doubted she ever would be."

"But they've only been seeing each other six months. He can't expect her to be willing to change her life so completely in such a short amount of time. Doesn't he know that Clare is a planner? Doesn't he know that it takes her a week to decide whether she wants to buy a pair of shoes? And this is bigger than a pair of shoes," Owen ranted.

Alli laughed. "You know that and I know that but apparently, Dimitri never got that memo. That is probably why she told him that if he wasn't willing to give her time to decide if she wanted to move in with him, then he wasn't willing to give her time to decide if their relationship was something that she really wanted either."

"They broke up?"

"They broke up," Alli confirmed.

"And she just didn't bother letting me know?"

"Well, can you really be surprised given that she knows how you feel about him?" Owen thought about that for a moment then ruefully shook his head. "Besides, it's not like it happened a month ago and she's been keeping it a secret ever since. They broke up last night and she called me this morning to play devil's advocate. She would've called you but you've been here and she knows you would've agreed with everything she said and did. Clare needed to hear that she was right from someone who could see things from his point of view as well as hers."

"Did you tell her that she did the right thing?"

"Of course I did, Owen. A guy who is going to give her an ultimatum is not a guy she needs in her life." Alli stood, brushing off any real and imaginative dirt from her backside. "Anyway, I got to go fit a client for her first premiere. Will I see you at the bar tonight for drinks? I think Eddie wanted to celebrate your new contract with the rest of the gang. After all, five years is a pretty big accomplishment for a first-year coach who had no previous experience."

"What time?"

"Nine, I think. I'll call you later when I find out."

She started her jog down the steps of the bleachers, a task that he thought would've been impossible in the customary four and a half inch heels that she wore. Before disappearing from his line of vision completely, she tossed a hasty congratulation that they both knew had been an afterthought.

So, Clare was no longer linked to Dimitri and he was the proud owner of a five year contract with Degrassi doing what he loved to do. Any depression that he had carried over the end of the school year had completely dissipated and all due to the news delivered by a pint-sized force of nature. And he supposed that maybe fairy tales had it right and endings weren't such bad things to experience after all.

* * *

><p><em>Day One Thousand Fifty-Eight<em>

Halfway across the continent, in the rainy city known as Seattle, a woman—clad in a casual uniform of trouser jeans and a lightweight cotton blouse, her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail—was situated behind a computer in an office that was comprised of glass and brick and hardwood floors. The desk was a combination of metal and glass, built in a modern design that fit in with the rest of the décor. But one could hardly tell by the stacks of papers that littered it, barely leaving room for the computer placed in the center.

Nimble fingers moved deftly over the keyboard and the clicking of the keys paused intermittently as she sifted through the papers, discarding each one into a container meant for recycling once her eyes had finished scanning their contents. This continued for another half hour before she stood and stretched out the cramped muscles in her back, picking up a forgotten coffee cup and carrying it over to the window that made up most of the back wall of her office.

It was this view that the window provided that almost made up for the bouts of homesickness and recent loneliness she was experiencing since her break up. Well, even in the weeks preceding the break up if she was completely honest with herself. Watching the people and cars rushing below her, the children playing in a park that interrupted the concrete of the streets and sidewalks, she could almost imagine she was back in Toronto. But she knew that closing her eyes and pretending that it was a displaced portion of her hometown was only a temporary fix, a patch to simply be glued over the problem instead of actually rectifying it.

Hopefully, one day she would be able to make a change to cause that temporary fix to be a bit more permanent.

"You wanted to see me, Clare."

She turned to look at the man shadowing her doorway, smiling softly and nodding. It was hard to believe the baby-faced man dressed in ripped jeans and a shirt bearing the logo of a long forgotten band had been her mentor, much less her current boss and the person in charge of a magazine that was quickly gaining popularity. It would be hard to believe if she didn't know firsthand the cunning that was carried behind eyes that should have belonged to a puppy and just how quickly his lackadaisical approach could harden to steely resolve.

"Hey Josh," she greeted him warmly, beckoning him with a wave of her hand to come inside.

He was quick to adhere to her wishes and, after shutting the door to give them a modicum of privacy in a fish bowl environment, threw himself into one of the chairs in front of her desk. "What does my favorite editor need?"

Clare pulled her braid over her shoulder, her fingers fiddling with the ends and making her nerves known. "We need to talk, Josh."

"Are you breaking up with me, Clare? Because whatever I said or did, I promise I can make it up to you," Josh said playfully. His brow furrowed in confusion when his joke didn't even bring a smile to her face. "Okay, what's up? Usually I get some kind of reaction out of you, even if it's only irritation."

She let out a half-hearted chuckle. "I guess I'm just not feeling like myself these days."

"Is it because you broke up with Mr. Wonderful?" Her brows raised and her mouth dropped in surprise. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You didn't think I'd hear about that? This place is too small for word not to spread around like wildfire."

"I wish I could say that the way I've been feeling is a direct result of that break up." Clare shrugged. "But I was feeling…out of sorts long before we split. I guess it just amplified it."

"You're not happy."

"It's not that. Well, it's not that completely. Don't get me wrong, Josh, I love working here. This is the career that I always wanted and the job I always dreamed of having. It's just…not enough for me anymore," Clare admitted.

Josh took in everything she was saying, seeming to mull it over for a moment before nodding. "I understand."

"What do you mean, you understand?"

"Clare, I knew you left a lot back in Toronto when you agreed to come here and be my features editor. Friends and family, the city you grew up in and lived most of your life. Those things are hard to give up, even for something you've wanted since you were a kid," Josh said.

He stood and made his way to stand in front of the younger woman, using the back of his knuckles to lift her chin when she tried to avoid his searching gaze. "You were so thrilled when I _interviewed_ you for the job, so ready to jump into the position and move full steam ahead. Then, you went home to pack and it seemed like everything changed. Sure, you still did the job I hired you to do and even exceeded my expectations. But I could tell that you didn't have the same…interest in it that you had when I saw you the first time.

"When you came back after your vacation in December, you seemed like you were back to your usual self. You were smiling, laughing, going out with some of the staff and dating Dimitri. It was like seeing the girl I knew in college all over again." Joshua chuckled. "You had found your fire for ten glorious weeks. And then you went back to Toronto for that wedding and I received a zombie instead of the woman I had become accustomed to having as my editor."

"Josh—"

He waved away her impending apology, taking her by the hand and leading her to the chairs to sit down. "Clare, you're my friend first and my editor second. I'm just worried that you're forcing yourself to be here because you don't want to disappoint me."

Clare cringed due to the truth in his words. "And if I am?"

"Then I'm going to have to fire you."

Her jaw dropped and a laugh that sounded more like a gasp escaped as she was taken aback by his blunt response. "You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack," Josh replied. "Of course, you could always quit and save me the guilt that would come with firing one of my really good friends."

"But I have a contract."

"And contracts can be broken just as easily as they're created if you know the right people."

"What about a replacement for my position or the fact that the deadline for the next issue is just under a week away?" Clare demanded. "No matter how unhappy you think I am or how homesick, you can't deny that I have responsibilities that need to be attended to, Josh. I can't just turn my back on them because I left my heart back in Toronto, so to speak."

"Okay, so you pick somebody."

"What? You can't really think it's that simple."

"Why not?" Joshua asked. "I mean, there's Margie. The woman drives me nuts but she's just as much of a control freak as you are. And Carlie was the editor of both her college and high school newspapers. Either one of them and more than half a dozen other staff members are more than qualified to handle your position here."

"Yes, they're qualified. I won't argue with that. But they're still going to need training."

"And you can train them. As soon as the new issue is out, you can pick whoever it is that you want as a replacement and have them work on the following issue with you. That way you won't have to feel guilty for leaving us in a lurch and they'll get the one-on-one training they're going to need to fulfill your responsibilities," Joshua told her. "You're running out of reasons to stay, Clare Edwards. You might as well just turn in your resignation and pack your bags right now."

She stood and began to pace the length of the room. "What about the lease on my apartment? I still have nine months left. And what am I going to do for a job once I get back there? It's not as cut and dry as you make it sound."

Joshua got up and on her next pass through, seized her arm to halt her frantic movements. "Clare, you need to go back home and, as much as you've tried to make it so, Seattle isn't it. All the little things will take care of themselves. You forget that you have connections here now."

She hesitated, worrying her bottom lip as her mind turned over everything he was saying a dozen times at least. Every variable and every outcome briefly filtered through her thought processes before she finally nodded her head in acquiescence. "I think you might be right. But you might have to remind me that it's all going to okay about a half a dozen more times in next month."

He wrapped his arms around her in what he hoped was a comforting embrace. "I wouldn't expect anything less," he assured her. "In fact, if you didn't need at least that many, I'd be worried about your mental stability."

She let out a small snarl and smacked him on the chest then pulled out of his arms. "Just for that, I think I'm going to have to choose Margie as my replacement. After all, who better to keep you in line?"

"Clare, you wouldn't. Tell me you wouldn't," Joshua pleaded.

She threw her head back in laughter as she went to exit her office, pausing in the doorway and holding out her hand. "Why don't you bribe me with some coffee that doesn't taste like its three days old and maybe I'll reconsider?"

"You got yourself a deal."

_**To Be Continued…**_


	12. Chapter 11

_**Author's**_** Note:** I edited and reedited this until it was right in my own mind. I hope it makes up for taking so long to update.

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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

_Day One Thousand Ninety-Six_

His summer had been filled with routine. Eighty forty-five, alarm sounded and cut into whatever dream he had on any given night. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he blindly smacked the top of the clock until silence filled the room. He managed to stumble into the bathroom twenty minutes later and, under the pulsating showerhead, he completed his journey into the waking world. And by the time the clock struck ten, he was out the door with a travel mug filled to the brim with coffee so strong it could eat paint in one hand and his playbook in the other.

He swung by one of the many fast food chains that lined the road for a breakfast sandwich, flirting with whatever drive-thru girl working as she refilled his partially empty mug, and was calling out plays to his team on the field exactly at eleven. Practice lasted until four-thirty with breaks in between and he was in his car heading home before rush hour traffic became a problem. Once he arrived home, he jumped into the shower to wash away the sweat and grime before preparing dinner for one and veg'ing out in front of the couch for a few hours.

Some nights, he prepared his curriculum for the coming school year and reviewed his playbook for the upcoming season. Those were the nights that he retired early to bed so he could be alert the following morning. He had gotten to enjoy the routine he had invented for himself that encompassed five—sometimes six—days a week, wishing that he had been intelligent enough to implement it as a teenager. He might not have made such a mess out of his life if he had.

But, then again, he might have ended up like some of the guys he played with in the junior league. Bitter at the world because they believed it owed them something and all because what they wanted had always been handed to them on silver platters. Spiting those who actually did the work to make it to where they were.

And on the few nights when he wasn't lying around at home, he could be found with his core group of friends. It was usually because they spent a good hour or two persuading him to join their reoccurring bar nights, using every argument from he was beginning to become a stranger to all work and no play made him dull. He would indulge them by staying for a beer or two, spinning both Alli and Hannah around the dance floor exactly twice, before begging off by claiming an early morning.

However, there were times that indulgence won over his newly developed straight-laced side and he staggered home sometime after last call. The hangover and disruption to his routine always caused regret and a determination not to do it again. And again, against his better judgment, another time of drinking, dancing and whiling away the night in a bar instead of his apartment always came around, followed by a hangover that made him feel like he'd been run over by a cement truck.

The night before was one such night. They were celebrating Eddie's promotion and the house he had put a down payment on with Hannah. He spent half the night watching the clock, promising to leave after just one more drink, and the other half losing himself in the camaraderie and atmosphere that the bar provided. Before he knew it, the bartender was calling out that she was closing up and he was pushed into a cab, wondering just where the night had gone and how he was going to get through the next day.

He awoke an hour late, not because of some internal alarm clock but because of the turning of his stomach. Rushing to the toilet, he unloaded the contents with a painful heave and almost cried out from the pounding in his head. Dry swallowing a handful of aspirin, he ran the shower and tried to make himself appear more human than the living dead that he felt like. And even though he had to forgo the morning coffee—there was always the drive-thru and the cute girl who worked the window with a smile on her face—he still managed to make it to the door by ten.

Only this morning when he swung it open, instead of finding the hallway devoid of human life as per usual, he found a woman pacing back and forth while muttering incoherently to herself. A woman clad in the summer uniform of ballet flats paired with a brightly colored sundress, her cinnamon tresses cut and curled so the ends barely brushed her bare shoulders. A woman that so greatly resembled the girl she had once been that the jolt to his gut almost caused another upheaval.

"Clare?" he managed to croak out, hating the weakness in his voice. He cleared his throat and repeated her name in a stronger voice, hoping that it belied the shakiness he was feeling from both her sudden appearance and the abuse made on his body the previous night. "Clare!"

Immediately, she halted her pacing and whirled around to face him. A smile brightened her features and she ran up to throw her arms around his neck. Her breath tickled his neck, causing a tingling sensation to crawl down his spine. And pressed against her, he could feel her chest rise and fall as she inhaled deeply. "Owen," she murmured. "You smell good."

He chuckled, pulling out of their embrace. He had missed her ability to say whatever came across her mind no matter how childish it sounded or how random it was. "I just got out of the shower. I've got to head over to the field, actually."

"I forgot you had practices during the week. I should've remembered but I just got into town and all I could think of was seeing you." She began to wring her hands together. "I've got some shopping to do so you can just call my cell when you're finished."

She went up and briefly kissed him on the cheek, turning to make an exit only to have her wrist captured in his firm grasp. "You're here already so why don't you go inside?"

"Owen, I know you're busy and I don't want to be a hindrance. I think it'd be best if I—"

"If you marched your butt inside my apartment and waited for me to make a call to cancel practice." He placed his hand over her open mouth before another sound could be uttered. "And before you give me that same line about being a hindrance or whatever, you should know that I'm doing this for the guys on the team. They've been bugging me for a break and when they find out that they're getting one because of you, they'll probably throw you a party."

Clare laughed, grabbing his wrist and pulling it away from her face. "Is that so, Coach Milligan?"

He felt another jolt at the sight of her eyes sparkling with uncontained mirth and resembling two glittering gems, the impact of how much he had missed seeing them like that hadn't hit him until just that moment when they were standing face-to-face. Slipping his key into the lock, he turned it and pushed the door open. "Just go inside, Clare, and I'll join you in a minute."

She opened her mouth as if to offer another argument but closed it with an audible snap. "Okay," she acquiesced with a nod, brushing past him to enter the darkened apartment.

Owen took a deep breath in, filling his nostrils with the lingering scent of her subtle perfume. It was another thing that took seeing her in person to make him realize fully just how much he had missed it. Digging his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, he flipped it open and dialed the seven digits that would connect him to the quarterback who was as big a gossip as his little brother.

After exchanging pleasantries, he informed the seventeen year old football player that practice would be cancelled until Monday. He had to hold the phone away from his ear during the whoops and hollers and winced when the volume got a little too high; having to wait until he was sure the teenager was done with his outburst before he could return the phone to his ear. Quickly ordering the quarterback to inform the rest of the team of the cancellation and snapping his phone shut, he slipped inside the apartment to find Clare perched on the couch with a magazine in her lap.

She raised her head to look at him upon hearing the door bang shut behind him. "Hey Coach, how did the guys take practice being cancelled?"

"I'll let you know when I get my hearing back."

"They were that excited, huh?" she said with a sympathetic smile.

"I only talked to my quarterback but I'm sure the rest of the team will know within the hour." Owen shrugged, tossing his things on the kitchen counter and going over to take a seat beside her on the couch. "So, Alli forgot to mention that you were coming back."

"I wanted it to be a surprise so I figured I probably shouldn't tell her if I wanted it to stay that way."

"You got a point there," Owen agreed, chuckling. "Your boss must really love you though."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Well, you had a vacation in December and the weekend in February. And now he's giving you another vacation only six months after the last one. I don't know of many bosses who would do that for an employee," Owen explained.

"And Josh isn't one of those bosses either."

It was his turn to be confused. "Then what are you doing here?" She looked down at the magazine, one hand shakily pushing a lock of hair behind her ear and the other playing with a dog-eared corner of the periodical. Her lips were pursed together and it didn't seem like he was going to get an answer anytime soon. Lightly grasping her chin, he tilted her head towards him. "Clare?"

"I'm an idiot who quit her job without a plan or a place to live and no job prospects anywhere on the horizon," she replied in a rush of words.

He nearly swallowed his tongue at the confession. "You did what?"

"I quit my job," she replied, rolling her eyes. "And I have no idea what I'm going to do now."

"Why would you do that? You are the woman who plans everything down to the last detail so why would you start living without a plan now?" he inquired. "Isn't high school the time for living by the seat of your pants?"

"I guess I was making up for lost time," she retorted. Clare gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I wasn't happy, Owen. Josh could see that. No matter what I did, who I met or happened to date, Seattle never felt like _home_. And coming back to Toronto for periodic visits made me feel a thousand times worse, especially after the wedding in February. So, Josh sat me down after the Fourth of July weekend and we had a long talk about what I wanted and what direction I saw my life heading in the future. Surprise, it wasn't in Seattle."

"So you quit your job."

"And sublet my apartment and sold my car, packed up everything I own and moved back in with my mom and Glenn."

"Why?"

A clear expression of confusion passed over her features. "I thought that was explanation enough."

"You weren't happy with the job or the city and you were feeling homesick. I get all that. But _why_ did you give up everything you worked so hard for to move back to a place that _stifled your creative side_?" Owen asked, echoing words that she had said a while back to explain leaving in the first place. "And I want the real reason this time, Clare, not just the one you invented to appease Alli and your family."

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, her eyes shifting and looking at everything in the room but at him. Finally, Clare took a deep breath in and let it out slowly before finally settling her gaze onto his. "I missed you. Are you happy now? The God's honest truth of it all was that I _missed_ you. And not just like one friend misses another friend when they move away."

Clare ran her hands through her hair, unfurling herself from the couch and beginning to pace the length of the room. "I really thought I was doing the right thing by moving. I mean, all I ever wanted was to be the editor of a newspaper or a magazine. To do _real_ journalism and not just the fluff pieces they had me writing at the _Daily_. Even leaving after we slept together was the right thing in my mind because hey, it was just sexual tension we were relieving and it could never mean more than that.

"But I ignored one simple fact. It was never going to be just sex between us." She stopped pacing right in front of him, tilting her head to the side as she stared. "But you knew that already, didn't you? The one time when you were right and I was so _completely_ wrong and it took me this long to figure that out."

Owen stood. "Clare—"

"You got under my skin. You got so far under that when Dimitri asked me to move in with him, all I could think of was how many ways he wasn't _you_. Let me tell you, thinking of how many ways two people differ does not make for a sound relationship," Clare said with a small chuckle. "I know I'm probably being a day late and a dollar short when I say this, but I could only see one thing when I took a good look at where my future was going."

He held his breath, not daring to let it escape lest he was getting his hopes up again. "And what was that exactly?"

A small nervous smile formed on her lips. "A future where there's no one else we're ever going to need or want. A future _together_," she replied, reiterating those words spoken on a cold February evening.

Owen narrowed his eyes cautiously. "Are you sure this time? You're not just rebounding from Dimitri?"

Clare took a step closer to him with a teasing glint in her eyes, tapping a finger against her chin as if thinking over his words. "Hmm, you could be right. I mean, moving halfway across the continent and giving up my dream job to be with some guy who makes my toes curl when he kisses me? That just screams rebound. I should probably hurry back to my parents' house, pack my things and catch the next flight back to Seattle."

She let out a squeal as Owen swept her into his arms, using a hand to push tendrils of hair behind her ears as he crushed his lips to hers with an almost bruising force. Weaving her arms around his neck, she pulled herself onto her toes for better leverage in their fight for dominance. It was almost like warfare, neither wanting to acquiesce to the other in this battle for control. When he nipped playfully at her bottom lip, she gasped at the jolt of electricity that surged through her nerve endings and the sudden loss of control allowed him to gain the upper hand.

Tongues dueling and lips moving with reckless abandonment, fingers tangled in hair and their bodies molded together so tightly that the Jaws of Life would be needed to separate them. It was air that finally drove them apart, the need for it ending the passionate moment in time. But the need to keep some kind of connection with the woman in his arms kept him from retracting entirely from their embrace.

"You're not going anywhere," he growled, touching her forehead with his own.

Clare smirked. "I wasn't planning on it," she whispered, leaning up to steal another kiss that leaned more towards being chaste. She looked down at her feet, the thin fabric of her shoes doing nothing to disguise the fact that her toes were, indeed, curled into themselves. "See? You really do make my toes curl. I wonder what else you can make curl."

He let loose a bout of laughter that hadn't been heard in a long time at the seemingly innocent innuendo, causing another squeal to escape her lips as she was lifted into his arms and carried to the bedroom. He had a lot of lost time to make up for and, this time, he was more than certain that she would still be there in the morning. Because the fact was that if she did plan to run away, she'd have to be prepared for the fight of a lifetime since he was not letting go so easily this time around.

_**To Be Continued…**_


	13. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** This is officially AU. I'll admit that I haven't watched _Degrassi_ in a while and for a time; I lost any inspiration that I had for writing. I got it back and I hope that those who are following this are not too disappointed with the fact that this will not exactly follow the current progression of the show.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>

_Day One Thousand Two Hundred Twenty-Nine_

Owen had never been the type of man that could boast long monogamous relationships. In fact, discounting whatever it was that he had with Anya back in high school, he could only remember being committed to two other women for longer than a month or two. Even then, he could never imagine in his wildest dreams of continuing the relationships further than the third month.

That was until Clare Edwards happened to waltz her way back into his life.

For the first time, he was looking forward to his future and found that there were odd moments where he was actually planning for it. There were moments when his mind would drift and he could imagine them not only taking the long walk down the aisle but living together as man and wife as well. Some nights, when the dreams were so vivid that he could almost mistake them for reality, he could hear the sounds of children laughing and feel the pressure of tiny hands against his palms.

And a few times, when he teetered on the line between the dream and waking worlds, he could envision them perfectly. Two little girls who were barely a year apart—one with his dark hair and her crystal blue eyes and the other with his darker blues and her cinnamon hair—who had the same cherubic faces that their mother sported at their age. The older one would be a tomboy and daddy's girl, tagging along as her father taught her the finer points of fixing an engine and making a goal when there was less than thirty seconds on the clock. She would be the terror of the family just as he was while her younger sister would be the angel, an almost replica of the mother she looked so much like. But both would be the darlings of their grandparents' lives, spoiled by the three sets like no other grandchild had been before.

It was amazing how much a life could change when the right person impacted it. And he was finding more every day that Clare Edwards was very much that right person. He was also finding that if anyone were to ask, he could announce with astounding certainty that he was actually _enjoying_ the journey that they were on and he no longer was haunted by the _what ifs _and the _might have been_ that had hung over his head like a dark cloud for so many years.

A soft moan that could be mistaken for a snore by those who would never know better sounded beside him and Owen looked down at the woman in question sprawled out beside him. The shorn locks that she complained about often because of the trouble she had controlling the wild mass of curls shielded her face from his view but he knew that her closed eyes would flutter every so often and her nose would crinkle as she dreamed. One hand clutched her pillow, the other curled under her chin and when she shifted, the comforter slipped down a few inches to reveal the black lace encompassing the top of her nightgown.

The same nightgown that she refused to remove the night before because they were in his parents' house and sleeping in his boyhood bedroom, no matter how many different tactics he used to get her to change her mind._ I don't care how many times you give me the sad puppy dog eyes, Owen Milligan; I'm not changing my mind on this. Do you know how creepy it would be if they were to hear us and then have to have breakfast with us in the morning? I'm a bit grossed out just thinking about it,_ she had told him after what seemed like the millionth time of pleading his case.

The fact that she refused to do what so many other girls he had known would have done actually made her more attractive to him instead of less, giving him just another reason as to why he knew that she was meant for his future. A future that he had contemplated and ultimately decided to begin before this holiday was over as evidenced by the small gift-wrapped box he had placed on the nightstand beside him in wait.

He only hoped that she had the same idea for the future as he did.

Another moan escaped her lips and her body shifted again. This time when he glanced at her face, the curly locks that had acted as a mask had been pushed back and her eyes were open and staring up at him. She lethargically raised herself up to a sitting position, using a combination of his body and the headboard to keep from falling back into the warm comfort of the mattress.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered, sleep still clinging to her voice as she leaned the rest of the way up to deliver a brief kiss on his cheek. Three months into their relationship and she still refused to make any more contact than that until she had visited the bathroom and eradicated the _dreaded morning breath_. Another neurotic trait that should have put him off but only solidified his opinion on what his future held. "How come you're up so early?"

"My mom and Tristan are obsessed with Christmas morning. Growing up, Dad and I never got to sleep past eight before one or both of them would be waking us up. Mom would wake us for some huge breakfast she'd proudly concocted, even though it was hardly edible, and Tristan always wanted to see what Santa brought," Owen explained. "I guess I just got used to waking up at dawn even when they no longer did. Even when the family festivities ran their course and we all started spending the holidays doing our own thing, I would wake up from anticipating their early morning wake up call."

"That's actually pretty sweet."

She scooted her body closer to his until she resting mostly against him and he wrapped his arm around her while simultaneously pulling the blanket farther up their bodies. Yeah, he could definitely see waking up like this every day as a great possibility for his life.

"So," she began, taking his hand and entwining their fingers. "Speaking of Tristan, I thought Jason was a pretty good guy. And I know this is the first time you've met him officially despite the fact that they've been together for years. So, what did you think of him?"

"I think he loves my brother and that's all I can ask for," Owen replied. While it would never be completely comfortable for him to discuss his brother's love life, it had gotten easier for him to do so over the years. Owen still wasn't exactly thrilled to have a gay brother but he had grown more accepting of his sibling's sexual orientation over the years and not just because he had to. It also helped that Clare was there to lend an ear, support them both equally and elbow him in the gut whenever he said something that could be misconstrued as crossing the line. "I mean, he isn't the type of guy that my brother usually went for but I think that that's a good thing."

Clare's lips quirked up in a slight grin. "You mean Tristan wasn't usually the one to go for the Emo-type who sports more body art than the local museum? I am positively shocked."

He tickled her side, causing her to squirm and bat this hand away. "You're funny. But no, my brother has always liked jocks."

"I get that. Jocks are pretty damn sexy." She leaned up to kiss him again, closer to his lips this time, and he was tempted to tilt his head enough to make contact complete and lasting. "So, you really like him?"

"Despite the tattoos, I think the guy is the best match my brother's made so far. I can tell my dad thinks so too and he's the harder of my parents to convince."

"Always trying to protect his family just like his oldest son," Clare murmured. She moved her body until she was straddling his lap, her arms around his neck and her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Have I told you lately how happy I am? Not just because you brought me home to meet your parents this week but because you didn't turn me away when I showed up out of the blue in August. I really wouldn't have blamed you if you had."

His hands drifted up to rest on either side of her waist and began to mindlessly move them up and down. "If I had then I wouldn't have one of the smartest, sexiest, not to mention sweetest, women sitting in my lap right now. You know, my family loves you so much that they might disown me if we were to ever break up. In fact, I _know_ Tristan would cast me aside if it meant he got to keep you."

"That would be an interesting custody battle to bring before a judge. I guess it's a good thing that I don't see our break up happening any time soon."

Owen leaned forward, successfully breaking her _no kissing before teeth brushing_ rule as he rested his lips against hers and smiled when he heard her utter a small noise of contentment. When she pulled back, it was all he could do to permanently capture the look of joy in his mind's eye. "Clare, you know I love you, right?"

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Yeah…and you know I love you too."

He reached over to the nightstand for the box that had been sitting there since just moments after he was certain she was asleep. "We don't usually open presents until after Mom makes breakfast but I wanted to give you this early. You know, while we were still in the privacy of my bedroom."

"Owen—"

"Clare, just open it before I lose my nerve."

She nodded, taking the box in her hand and carefully peeling away the silver wrapping paper. Once finished, she lifted the lid of the white box usually reserved for jewelry to find something much more valuable than any necklace or bracelet could ever hope to be. "Owen, is this—"

"I know you've dealing with a lot with the new job and having to stay with your parents. And I know that our relationship is still relatively new and the amount of time it takes you decide on a pair of shoes is longer than the amount of time we've officially been together. But I'd still really like to have you with me in my apartment in the New Year, calling my home yours, and waking up just like this every morning," Owen proposed.

Her eyes darted from the key in the box to his face and back again. Her mouth open and closed numerous times but no sound escaped. He had envisioned this moment many times in his mind, pictured her shouts of joy and throwing herself at him. Maybe there would be happy tears involved and her running off to call everybody they knew about the news.

What he hadn't expected was her lack of a reaction. Or the ache that moved to wrap around his heart because of it.

"Look, I know you deserve more than a high school teacher slash coach. I'll probably never afford to give you expensive gifts or take you on some exotic vacation just because we both have a week off. You deserve to have all that and more. The thing though is that I'm selfish. I should let you find someone who can give you all of those things but I won't because I want you for myself," he said in a rush of words that tumbled from his mouth before his brain could catch up.

And his rush of words made him feel like the biggest jack ass in the world because tears were currently streaming down her face. He expected her to leap up from the bed, pack her things and tell him their entire relationship was over because everything he had just said was everything that she had been thinking. He was prepared to spend the rest of the week at his parents alone and miserable as a precursor to what the following year would be like.

What he didn't expect was what happened next.

Looking at a miniscule Clare Edwards, one would never believe that the woman knew how to punch and that she could leave a mark. Which is what she did when she landed a solid hit in his chest that he knew would be sore for days. Not two seconds after hitting him, she wrapped her arms around his neck again and pulled him so tight against her that not even tissue paper could fit between them. And with a grin that contrasted completely with the tears still falling down her cheeks, she pressed her lips against his in a kiss that was filled with saltiness and something else he couldn't quite place.

"You're an _idiot_ sometimes," she breathed when she pulled back. "A certifiable idiot who should learn to let a girl talk before he puts his foot in his mouth."

"What?"

"I don't care that you're just a high school teacher slash coach. I wouldn't care if you were some big hockey star or the guy who picks up our garbage. And while it'd be nice to vacation in some exotic locale, I'm never going to stress about not being able to go. I love _you_, Owen Milligan. Not because of what you do or what you can give me but because of _who you are_," Clare replied, the force of her words easing the ache around his heart and bringing about a rush of emotions he could hardly name.

"And who exactly am I?"

The grin on her face grew wider. "You are the guy who protects his family with everything in him because that's what he learned to do from his father. You are the guy who not only became civil with a woman you couldn't care less for but became best friends with because she means the world to me. You are the guy who told me on a cold February day that you refused to sleep with me until I realized what you already had: that we are perfect together.

"You're the guy who can sit and listen to me talk for hours on end about every little thing and actually _wants_ to hear about my day. You're the guy who doesn't need to even say a word to make me feel protected and comforted all at the same time. You are the last thing I think about before I go to bed and the first thing that crosses my mind when I wake up. You accept every little neurotic tendency I have and you try not to show just how amusing you find some of them. And you love my family which is…well, nobody I've ever been with has actually even _liked_ my family."

They shared a chuckle at that before Clare continued. "You think you're selfish because you refuse to let me find someone who can give all those superficial things you mentioned? Well, I'm even more selfish because I choose to keep the best man on this planet all to myself."

"Wait, does that mean what I think it means?"

Clare nodded, sniffling a bit. "It means that you're going to have to pry this key from my cold dead hands if you ever want it back."

Owen let out a cheer and flipped their bodies so she was lying underneath him. Smothering her laughing face with kisses, he used his thumbs to wipe away the tear tracks on her cheeks. He never knew that a woman could bring this much happiness to his life and thanked every star in the sky that the universe had deigned him fit to bring this one into his life.

But after they were finished celebrating and both were dressing for the day before either of the Milligan early risers could barge in on them, a thought passed through his mind. He realized in their grand speeches, he had mentioned something but she had never addressed it.

"Uh, Clare?" he ventured as she was zipping up the boots that were a present from Alli. "You never said anything about not caring about expensive gifts."

The smile on her face did not make him feel any better. Nor did he feel better when she placed her hand on his cheek and kissed him softly. If she was trying to reassure him, she was doing a piss poor job of it.

"I'll make you a deal," she said. "I only want one thing from you that costs more than a bouquet of roses."

"And what is that?"

"When the time comes, you'll figure it out."

He would have figured it out then if his brother hadn't chosen that moment to announce that breakfast was on the table, causing the end of their conversation to be conveniently forgotten.

**- O – C –**

_Day One Thousand Two Hundred Eighty_

There had never been a Valentine's Day that he had never been without a date. There had been blondes, brunettes and the occasional redhead over the years. Some had been blind dates set up by friends and family while others had been women that he was in short-term relationships with that ended not long after the auspicious holiday. All were eager to spend the day with someone, even if that person was not _the one,_ if it meant that they didn't have to be alone and he never had to put effort into planning the actual dates. And the fact that they were just satisfied to have dinner as a couple instead of being single suited him just fine because it was not as though he ever had the desire to actually _plan_ anything special.

No desire to make any holiday special for any woman until he involved himself with a cinnamon haired woman with eyes the color of a glacier in the arctic. That sudden desire had him planning the day for the last two weeks, from where they would have dinner to the perfect gift he could obtain on a teacher's salary to making the after dinner activity they would partake in extra special. It was odd giving so much care and thought into something that he had disregarded as just another day for so long but it was just another thing to add to list of reasons he was become a _big softie_ like Alli like to call him now.

Their day had begun with breakfast in bed which had been a task since it called for him sneaking out of their bed at five in the morning without her noticing. The last thing he wanted to do on a drizzly Saturday morning was leave the warm cocoon that was their bed earlier than he ever had to and a sleepy Clare just waking from the dream world had quickly become his favorite sight. But he had wanted to set the tone for the day by visiting her favorite café and choosing some of her favorite pastries that always seemed to be sold out whenever she stopped by the establishment. He also needed to swing by Alli's apartment to pick up the gift that both she and Clare's mother had helped him decide on.

After a stop at the café and flower stand, he successfully delivered the breakfast to his girlfriend who was just waking up when he found the truth in the saying his grandmother used to recite at regular intervals. _Man plans and God laughs_ had never been truer of a statement when Clare informed him she had to meet a client for lunch just after the last crumb was consumed. And while he wanted nothing more than to inform her that he planned an entire day of pampering for them at a local spa that she had been talking nonstop about since it opened the month before, he knew that he had to grin and accept that it was a lunch she could not just reschedule. After all, working freelance was often a hit or miss career and keeping clients happy kept the paychecks coming in.

One steamy make out session leading to a shared shower later, Clare was dressed in her casual business attire that consisted of a pair of khaki slacks and a light pink buttoned-down shirt. With her hair straightened and cosmetics lightly applied, she gave him a swift kiss on the cheek as he went over his playbook at the kitchen table and promised to be back as early as possible as she flew out the door with her messenger bag swinging against her hip.

Since he knew that early would be after their dinner reservations began, he set about making the necessary calls to schedule their appointment at the spa for another weekend and canceling with the Italian restaurant that had almost been completely booked when he first called two weeks before. He assured both the receptionist at the spa and the hostess at the restaurant multiple times that he had not been dumped in any way, shape or form and that he was still happily committed but as he ended the calls with more apologies than he had ever uttered, he knew that neither believed him with the pity coloring their voices.

Now he had to figure out a new plan for their evening and one that was not time sensitive. He quickly called Helen to find out what her daughter's favorite home-cooked meal was, writing down the simple ingredients and instructions on an empty page of the playbook. After ascertaining that it would be a task he could accomplish without too much effort, he tore the page out and tucked it along with his wallet in his back pocket, grabbed his keys and headed out of the apartment.

He was still on a mission to make this holiday special for both of them despite the fact that all his original planning had been shot to hell. In his mind, Clare Edwards was special and that made her worth all the added trouble it was taking to show her just how he felt about her. However, it was after the stop at the market and when he stopped at the florist to pick up his order that he discovered all this effort might not even be worth it. And why he should have stuck to his usual philosophy of doing nothing special on what was deemed to be one of the most special days of the year.

Because in the coffee shop across the street from the florist was his girlfriend, laughing at whatever her companion was saying. It wouldn't have bothered him since he knew she was with her new client but then the waitress moved and he could feel his heart literally jump into his throat. Because sitting across from the woman who encompassed his entire future was her past.

It was her past in the form of a dark-haired, green-eyed man by the name of Elijah Goldsworthy.

This was why he was sitting in a darkened apartment instead of a candlelit restaurant hours later, drinking his way through a six pack instead of an expensive bottle of champagne, his mind running through every scenario both plausible and not while alternating between swearing to end their relationship and doing anything possible to keep her with him. This was why, by the time he heard her key turn in the lock and saw her push through the door, he had decided in his drunken stupor that he would do everything in his power to not interrupt as she pleaded her case and he would only beg a little for her to stay if she wanted to leave him. After all, no matter how much he loved her, it was never worth it to keep someone who did not want to be kept.

Owen saw her jump slightly when her eyes landed on his form on the couch and heard the barely audible gasp that she had let loose. "Owen, what are you doing in the dark?" Clare asked, flipping the switch to the table lamp and allowing yellowish light to flood the room. She glanced down at the empty beer cans that littered the coffee table and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Obviously, this was not how she pictured her Valentine's Day going for either of them. "I'm sorry I'm so late but I—"

"I saw you earlier," he broke in, cringing at the raspy quality of his voice. It was a sign of weakness and Owen Milligan did not do weakness. But Clare always did seem to bring out both the worse and best qualities out in him.

"Earlier?"

"At the coffee shop, across from the shop that carries those flowers you like."

"If you saw me, why didn't you just come over and say hi?"

His fist clenched, causing him to crush his half empty beer can and, in doing so, causing a stream of amber liquid to dribble down his hand and onto the couch cushions. "I didn't want to ruin the happy reunion. How is Goldsworthy, by the way?"

Owen knew the exact moment realization dawned on her face. And he could tell that the guard she kept lowered around him was slowly being raised as though she knew where the conversation was headed. "He's fine. A little surprised to find out that we were not only together but _living_ together but good, overall," she replied.

He scoffed derisively. "I'm sure. It's always surprising when the girl you want back is madly in love with a guy you hate. Tell me, how long did it take before you informed him you were no longer single? It must have been a while because you two looked mighty cozy when I saw you together."

Her blue eyes flashed dangerously as Clare crossed her arms over chest. "Okay, first of all, Eli doesn't hate you. He hates who you were in high school. Secondly, Eli is still _married_ so my being single, committed or casually dating was never going to be an issue. Even if he wasn't married, it would still not have been an issue because we both recognized long ago the fact that the two of us together is like taking a flame to a can of gasoline. And third, you big dumbass, we looked cozy because I was going over his manuscript. A manuscript he had hired me to go over because it's the first thing he's written since his last novel was skewered by critics."

Clare was right. He was a dumbass. "That doesn't explain why you didn't tell me all of this when you told me about the job this morning," he grumbled.

"I didn't tell you because silly me thought that you might fly off the handle if you knew that it was my ex-boyfriend I was meeting. He had just called last night to let me know that he was in town and wanted to meet for a few hours so I could take a look at the beginning of his next novel. I didn't even know if I was going to do the job and I didn't want to start a fight that didn't need to happen. Guess I should have remembered that I'm in a relationship with a Neanderthal who can't seem to trust me even though I'm good enough to have sex with," Clare answered, her tone biting and cutting him to the core.

And with each cutting remark, he felt the need to strike back. "But why did it have to be you? There is any number of editors in this city and any one of them would be a bet—" he stopped himself but the damage was done.

"A better choice than someone who edits articles for publications that happen to be smaller than most high school newspapers, right? That was what you were going to say, right? I mean, who would have someone as inexperienced as me edit something as important as a novel and one who could make or break their career for that matter? They must want more from me than the expertise that a four year degree and six months as a contracted features editor allows. Because how could anyone ever expect little Clare Edwards to be some kind of professional? There _must_ be an ulterior motive, especially if I have some kind of history with the person requiring my services," she said hotly.

"Clare, I'm sorry."

Clare laughed. "You're sorry? You don't even get it, do you? All you can focus on is that he's my ex-boyfriend and that we have a shared past. Do you even understand what this could do for his career? For my career? This novel marks his transition from reclusive indie publications to the mainstream and if it's successful, _I_ will be known as the one who helped him do it. And it's because of the shared past that bothers you _so fucking much_ that will allow me to help him because I was there in the very beginning when everything he wrote was so raw that I literally feared his talent."

Owen stood, walking over and placing his hands on her shoulders. "And it doesn't matter if it bothers me that my _girlfriend_ is spending the majority of her time with her ex? I know what can happen when two people who have history spend extraordinary amounts of time together. What if he decides that you're worth giving up his marriage for? What if you decide the same? I can't lose you, Clare, but I can't spend my life wondering just when you might decide that he fits in your life better than I do."

"And I can't spend my life with someone who doesn't trust me or in the love I have for him." She shrugged his hands off of her body. "I'm going to go stay with my mom and Glenn for a while. Hopefully, we'll be able to figure this out. In the meantime, I want you to know that I am going to work with Eli because this is the opportunity I've been waiting for."

She turned, walked to the door and turned with her hand on the knob. "I do love you, Owen, so much. I just think that we rushed the next step in our relationship. I'll be back tomorrow to pack up some of my things. Happy Valentine's Day, Owen, make sure you take an aspirin before you go to sleep so you don't have a hangover."

He watched her slip out the door and he was reminded again why he never should have made an effort on a holiday he had never given much credence to before.

**_To Be Continued..._**


	14. Chapter 13

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

_Day One Thousand Three Hundred _

It had been roughly three weeks since her fallout with Owen and while they were still technically together, the bulk of their contact was now condensed down to text messages and a few awkward interludes when she had to visit the apartment for the odd possession. It literally hurt to see him in pain from her absence in his life and while she felt the same amount of pain over not being to touch him with the same ease that she once had, she knew that they had to deal with the giant elephant between them or they would inevitably fight about the same matter again. Or, something else that was similar to the issue that they were dealing with at the moment.

But neither was willing to take the first step in repairing the damage that had been done. Clare figured that it was Owen's ego that was keeping him from doing so and she couldn't because, honestly, she had no idea where to begin. Trust was a big deal breaker for her since most of her other relationships had ended because of that factor. She just never thought it would have factored into her relationship with the one guy she had seen herself marrying and spending the rest of her life with.

Now she was alone, stuck in a sort of limbo with one man and having a professional, yet enjoyable, relationship with another man. Another man who had been talking incessantly since the moment she sat down at the table in favorite café but was currently silent with a curious expression painted on his face. Clare cursed her fair skin, feeling her face grow enflamed with embarrassment, and offered him a tremulous smile, hoping that he hadn't figured out just how long she had been checked out of their conversation.

"You haven't heard a word I've said since you sat down, have you?" Eli asked with a smirk.

She could feel her face darkening from a sunburned pink to a cherry red as she shook her head apologetically. "I hate to admit that I've been less than professional by flat out ignoring you but I've had a lot on my mind lately."

Eli cocked his head to the side. "I'm guessing the distraction has to do with your relationship. I hope you don't mind me putting my nose in your business but is everything okay with you and Owen? I mean, you wouldn't stop gushing about him on Valentine's Day but I haven't even heard you say his name in the weeks since. Did you two break up?"

"Technically, no," she answered. She nervously licked her lips and pressed them together for a moment, trying to gain the courage to ask what she most needed the answers to. "Eli, did it bother Daphne when she found out you were going to be working with me? I mean, we had a pretty dramatic hot and cold relationship for what was considered a high school romance. So, did she have a lot of trouble dealing with the fact that you had sought out the girl you had once crashed your car for to edit your next book?"

"I'm going to guess that Owen did." Clare nodded. "I like to think that all love starts off passionately. It is chemistry and hormones and the feeling of something brand new all colliding together that creates this all consuming passion that keeps two people together in the beginning. We had that, Clare; we had that like no one else I've ever known in my life. I'm guessing you and Owen have that as did Daphne and I."

Clare cringed. "You're making me think that Owen was completely right not to trust us working together and I should watch my back around your lovely bride."

Eli chuckled, shaking his head. "Let me finish. What people don't take the time to realize is that passion is like a fire. It can be this wild firestorm that renders everything around it to nothing but ash and then it's gone as quickly as it started. It feeds on everything it its path until it's so huge that no one can control it and you have to destroy it before it destroys you because it will never shrink to a size that's manageable. That was us, Clare. Our relationships never had a buildup, they just happened out of the blue, and our passion was so overwhelming that it nearly ruined us every time. We were a forest fire gaining strength until Mother Nature dumped rain on us."

"Going with your analogy, what would be the other kind of passion?"

"The other kind of passion is slow burning and tends to last for months, years and even a lifetime. It's a campfire or a winter's flame that's built in a hearth. You take the effort to keep it going by feeding it whatever it needs because it sustains you and when it goes out, you actually feel the loss of its heat and the comfort of its flames. A lot of couples are so busy searching for the firestorm because it brings excitement that they hardly take the time to notice the smaller flame that is, in all actuality, the more important of the two. Sometimes, the smaller flame is what you have from the start and you never have to look for the firestorm which is how it was with my parents," Eli explained.

"But you said you and Daphne had the firestorm. You also said that Owen and I do too. How is it that the two of you are still together? And does that leave any hope for Owen and myself?" she questioned.

"I'm getting to it. See, there are a small amount of couples who have both. They started with the firestorm but they were able to figure out how to bring it down to a size that's manageable and it becomes that slow burning flame that lasts. When you find that person who is worth giving everything you have inside yourself, you learn how to quench that all-encompassing passion until it becomes nothing more than the flame of a candle. A steady, flickering light that shines defiantly and lights up every part of your life, a beacon in the night and the thing that keeps you secure when the storms keep raging on. _That_ is what I have with Daphne and _that_ is what we never would have been able to obtain," Eli finished.

Clare offered him a watery smile at the explanation. "You've become awfully poetic since you decided to become the next Nicholas Sparks. I know I've only read the first three chapters but this book is about you and Daphne isn't it?"

"Actually, it's not. I didn't know her in high school and that's where the story begins."

Now, she was officially confused. "Then, who the hell are the real life counterparts? Because almost every relationship that I can remember happening back then ended the moment the caps and gowns were put away."

A grin slowly spread across his face and he scarily resembled the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. "Did I tell you that I ran into Alli Bhandari last year? I was a little surprised to see her in Vancouver where we were visiting Daphne's parents but hey, she was a familiar face and I thought that it'd be nice to have my new bride know a little more about my past. I thought she'd be a lot like the girl I knew in high school and all we would hear about was clothes and make up and whatever guy she happened to be dating. Imagine my surprise when it wasn't _her_ love life she wanted to go on and on about but the romantic interludes of my ex-girlfriend that she couldn't stop gushing over."

"You're kidding, right?" Clare could feel the familiar thrumming in her temple that announced the arrival of a stress migraine and placed a hand on either side of her head to hopefully soothe it before it became unbearable. She didn't quite know if she was ready to hear what had been said behind her back by the woman who was more or less a sister. However, she did know that there was a good chance of going to prison for murder by the time the night was over. "What tales did Alli weave this time?"

"Just the truth, Clare, about a girl and a guy who would never seem like a match made in heaven but are perfect for each other in every way possible. Two people who are both more stubborn than they care to realize and always seem to get stuck in their own path without ever really realizing it. Enemies who were given the gift of time and found that that thin line between love and hate really is razor thin," Eli confessed. "I spent a long time looking for a love story to write and who knew that I would find it in my past."

"I miss him, Eli. I miss him so much that I spend my nights crying and forgetting how to breathe during the day," she choked out, hands dropping to her lap. Tears swam on the edges of her eyes and all it would need for them to fall was for her to blink. "I just want to be us again."

He covered one of her hands with his own. "Owen's not gone, Clare. He's waiting for you to take the first step just like you're waiting for him to do the same. You both just need to get over yourselves and let the natural progression of your relationship happen."

"Owen was so hurt that day, Eli. And I was just…pissed off because he couldn't see that I would never jeopardize _us_ for you or any other person. I couldn't recognize that his anger wasn't anger at all but pain," she whispered. "I don't know how to be the one that takes that step, even if I know that it needs to be taken to get us back to where we were."

"Do you want me to have a man-to-man conversation with him?" Eli asked with a crooked grin on his face.

Clare chuckled and shook her head. "I don't think that would be the best idea. You know, seeing as he might want to kick your ass right about now. But thank you and I'll keep you in mind for when plans a through z fail."

"You know, you should let him read the chapters."

"What? No, those are your private thoughts. It wouldn't be right."

"Clare, those private thoughts are about to be read by millions. I think that the one person who matters most right now should be the first to get a glimpse on what we're working on here," Eli argued. "It might make him feel more settled on the idea of you working with me on this."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

She silently thought his idea over for a moment before shaking her head. "No, thanks for the offer but I don't want to use your book as a crutch to make my relationship work. I just got to put my big girl panties on, be an adult and confront my problems head on. Now, enough about my relationship woes and let's take a look at chapter three again. I feel like there's something missing."

As they began conversing about the characters and their interactions, Clare was once again in editor mode. Eli knew that as long as she was focused on the writing before them, she would never focus on the real issue which was the state of her personal life. And he decided that he had to help her fix things despite the fact that she was against the idea. Because he had done a lot of messed up things to the woman beside him when they were dumb kids and, for the first time, he had a way to make it up to her.

**- O-C –**

_Day One Thousand Three Hundred One_

The package arrived at Degrassi Community School by courier to a small office attached to the school's gymnasium. There was no return address and a simple Post-It that had the words _Read Me_ was stuck to the top of the stack of papers that had lines upon lines of typed words written on them. Owen Milligan poured himself another cup of coffee from the small pot plugged in on the shelf behind his desk and settled into his office chair, not quite knowing what to expect but mentally preparing himself on the off chance that another tidal wave was set to crash over his life.

However, no matter how much preparation he could partake in, he could never truly be ready for what his eyes would spend the next two hours skimming over. The names were different and some of the facts had been played with to better resemble a work of fiction, but the story was _his _all the same. And even more importantly, he could tell that the story was _hers _as well.

_ Catherine Isabelle Everson, Cate as she was known by all, arrived in this world almost docile. The doctor who delivered the seven pound bundle of blue eyes and reddish hair expected screaming and wailing like all children tend to do. But this girl was different. Sure, she whimpered at the change in her environment and grasped blindly for the mother she had been ripped from but that reaction was temporary. _

_ A fleeting display of emotions that gave way to a sort of inquisitiveness that was practically unheard of. Those blue eyes so bright that there was no question if they would change into a color darker blinked twice before flitting around to gaze at her surroundings. There was no question that this girl was special and the doctor and his nurse just knew that there was an intelligence behind those eyes that was older than the few minutes the girl had been alive._

_ Oliver James Michaels was the opposite. The year before the girl's arrival, Oliver came into the world screaming so loud that that same doctor was worried he would rupture his vocal chords before he could even say his first word. A ball of red that spent the first five minutes of his life kicking and screaming, there was no doubt in Raina Michaels's mind that her son would grow up to be a fighter. _

_ She named him Oliver after an uncle that passed in a war when she was a child, hoping that some part of the characteristics of his namesake would somehow find their way to her son's personality. And they did. Oliver was strong, independent and as hardheaded as a mule, less of the protector she dreamed her son as being and more of the troublemaker she had feared him becoming. As he grew up, he became less like the uncle she had loved dearly and more like the husband she tolerated at best most times. _

_ While Oliver was growing up and finding himself fitting in with the type of crowd that sets every parent on edge, Cate found a home with the academics of her generation. She kept her nose in dusty tomes of literature and science instead of the latest fashion magazine or gossip rag. She kept to herself for the most part, even going as far as dressing in the uniform from her previous Catholic school days, never caring that this often garnered looks of mild disgust from her peers._

_ They were so different that they were on the opposite ends of the social spectrum, neither giving much thought to the other as neither ventured around the other's orbit for very long. However, the years between growing up and being grown happen quickly and are wrought with change. Each passing year brought new people into Oliver and Cate's lives and it wasn't long before their universes crashed on more than one occasion._

_ Cate was fifteen the first time Oliver fully crashed into her life when he had spent so long on the border. She had given up the uniform and the glasses in exchange for the newest trends and contact lenses, giving into the pressure to act and look the way her peers did. She was still an academic by every standard but Saturdays were spent at the mall or with friends instead of in a museum or the library. And she had new friends that were nothing like the ones she had known all her life._

_ It was these new friends that had Oliver busting into the content world she had created for herself like a hurricane on a sunny Sunday afternoon._

_ Oliver was stubborn and held steadfast to old prejudices, causing him to lash out at Cate and her friends. There was violence and anger and soon, Cate's perfectly kept life was in an upheaval. They became enemies the day he threw her friend through a window and she swore that whatever past mistakes she had forgiven would never be forgiven or forgotten again. She had never hated anyone in her short life but Oliver James Michaels quickly became the first._

_ They learned it was best to avoid each other and soon, what had been an effort just became natural. Oliver slowly began to grow up and his choices in life began to reflect that. He became the hero of the school instead of the bully and even found it in himself to apologize for past wrongdoings. Oliver started to become the man that his mother had envisioned on the day he was born._

_ You would think that this would mean that Cate and Oliver became friends but you would be wrong. While Oliver was growing up, Cate was acting out and rebelling against the status quo that she had been so used to following. They still traveled in different social circles, the jocks and the misfits, and neither of them was willing to step a toe past the barrier that separated their groups. And the past is a tricky thing to overcome._

_ They eventually stopped purposefully ignoring the other's existence. Soon, they just naturally forgot the other one was alive. Each became a fleeting memory, something that was only brought to the forefront when a name was spoken or old pictures were rifled through. High school ended and real life began and not even those memories that were once so crystal clear entered their minds. They simply became fuzzy pictures that lingered in that place between dreams and the waking world._

_ But Fate can be a tricky mistress. And nearly a decade later, what was forgotten was soon remembered in all its Technicolor glory. They weren't the same people that they were when they were teenagers, that much was evident by the first chance meeting in the dimly lit hallway of a dingy apartment building. Time had soothed old wounds and softened rough edges and Fate finally had her chance to make what had been foretold come to fruition._

_ And it all began again with a phone call the morning after a one night stand._

_** End of Prologue**_

Who had sent him this and why? Owen wondered this as he flipped through the pages again to find some indication of the identity of the mystery writer. He opened the envelope the pages had come in again and found his answer in a piece of notebook paper that was crumpled at the bottom. Reaching his hand inside and pulling out what had almost been tossed away, he shoved the story to the side and smoothed out the wrinkles of what appeared to be a note from the author.

_Owen,_

_She'd kill me if she knew I sent this to you but Clare isn't thinking clearly or is she in her right mind at this time. Only those who've dated her know how truly stubborn the woman can be so I hope that you can see why I had to do this behind her back. If it works out the way I want it to, it won't matter and you can let her in on this little secret. If it backfires, please do me a favor and forget you ever received this package so I can still have my life tomorrow._

_Did you like what you read? I bet it feels pretty familiar what was written on those pages. That's probably because it's inspired by you. Well, you and Clare and the story of how you got together. That's actually what the book is about and you should know that you are in possession of the prologue. I would have sent you the first two chapters but your girl is currently editing them for me and she is a perfectionist. Which is something that I desperately need since I have practically lived in chaos all of my life._

_I know that you wonder why I chose Clare to edit my novel. I would too if I was in your shoes but I feel like I should first assure you that I am still happily married and I am on my way to becoming a first time father. So, my decision had nothing to do with unrequited feelings for my ex-girlfriend which is what you probably assumed and rightfully so. Clare has always been talented and she has always seen things in my writing that I was either too manic or too stubborn to see myself. And she's not afraid to tell me when I'm wrong and would never dare to walk on egg shells around me, something that I've needed since the last editor I worked with hated confrontation and never felt like she could address things properly._

_The other reason that I chose Clare to be my editor is because she is my inspiration for the book. Well, the both of you together is the inspiration. I find inspiration in raw emotions and true love and—don't tell anyone—simple romance. The power behind human emotion is a catalyst for a lot of literature in this world and I wanted the emotions you share with Clare to be out there in the world, easily attainable for those who may never experience it firsthand themselves. I was all set on giving up my writing career after the last book tanked but then I ran into an old friend and she shared this story of two enemies who first became friends and, later, lovers. It's your story, I'm just writing it down._

_I guess I just wanted to let you know that you have nothing to worry about with me. Yes, it's true I loved Clare. And yes, it is true that there is a chance that I might always love her but that's what happens when your first love is a girl like Clare Edwards. But in the same respect, it's also true that I have never and will never make her happy the same way that you do and that you can. There will probably never be another man out there that will make her soul soar the way that you have. And that day that you saw us in the coffee shop, trust me when I tell you that you were the only topic on her lips that afternoon._

_I'm going to wrap this up before I get too mushy even though I'm sure you'd point out that that ship has sailed. I guess I wanted to send this to you to not only alleviate some of your worries but also to let you know that she misses you. Your break—not break up, she was very adamant about that—is slowly killing her. I've never seen her so disheartened in my life and I'm worried about her. I'm worried about you too if you are half as affected by this mess as she is._

_I hope things work out between the two of you. I hope that you two can have a conversation that is not done through text messages because just hearing your voice could be what she needs. And if you really want us to not work together, if that is what it is going to take for things to work out between you two, I will gracefully exit stage left. I don't want to be the cause for the light leaving her eyes like I was once before._

_Best of luck,  
><em>_**Eli Goldsworthy**_

Placing the pages belonging to the next Eli Goldsworthy novel along with the letter back in the envelope, Owen opened his bottom desk drawer and slipped it inside. He hadn't realized it before but it was this piece of reassurance that he needed to hear since that fateful Valentine's Day. Maybe on a subconscious level he knew that he needed the man who had been an integral part of his girlfriend's life to tell him that the last of his feelings for Clare were on a professional level only. But he would've never admitted it aloud that this had been the obstacle that had kept him from facing the woman he loved.

Gathering his jacket and duffel bag, he shot off a quick text to Alli to find out where the women were spending their evening as they had been spending most days out of the week together since Clare moved back to her parents' house. Owen supposed he would be spending as much time out too if he were living with his parents but it still put him on edge to know that his taken girlfriend was spending almost every night out with her single friend. He knew that there was always a chance that she would realize that she could do better than him, especially now that they were officially on a break.

Owen was almost to his car when a _beep_ alerted him that his text message had been answered. _She's at home. Jake's wedding is tomorrow, remember?_ He hadn't remembered the upcoming nuptials amidst all the drama that he was recently immersed in but he should have. After all, he had spent hours in small boutiques all over Toronto searching for the perfect wedding present and she had accompanied him on both trips to the tailor to make certain that the fit of his suit was perfect.

He doubted that she still wanted him to be her date but with all the money he had shelled out on the gift and to the tailor, as well as what he had just read, she was about to find that she didn't really have a choice in the matter. Because Owen Milligan didn't give up easily on the things that mattered to him and Clare Edwards was what mattered most.

_**To Be Continued….**_


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Day One Thousand Three Hundred Two_

The venue had been perfect. The vows had been both eloquent and moving. The bride and groom had been almost the perfect replica of Bridal Ken and Barbie. And if the ceremony hadn't been so damn touching and so damn worth it, Clare would have killed everyone involved with the chaos of the morning from her micro-managing mother to the overly sensitive bride. But one look at the happy couple after the minister officially announced them to the world as Mr. and Mrs. Jake Martin—their eyes glistening with so much love and hope for the future— and even she had to confess that she would go through it all over again.

Just not anytime soon because no one deserved having to go through the hell that she had experienced preparing for the wedding, especially not for something that was over as quickly as it had begun.

Now, it was an hour later and they were convened in the backyard of the bride's family estate. The two families and all of their friends mingled together in surroundings that looked as though a wedding magazine had vomited them up. It was certainly beautiful in that over-the-top way that only wedding planners and reality television producers actually _loved_, definitely more than she had expected from her stepbrother who preferred cheap flannel and beer over expensive suits and wine. However, what else could be expected when one marries the daughter of a billionaire who also happens to be a somewhat infamous socialite?

"Hey, Clare," he greeted her, breaking her focus on the couples swaying on the makeshift dance floor. She looked up to see the groom standing in front of her, his tie missing and the first few button of his shirt undone. "Mind if I sit?"

Clare nodded noncommittally, sliding her half empty beer bottle towards him. She wasn't a drinker by any means, the nights out with Alli being the exception to her sober rule, and she knew that Jake would enjoy a beer in his hand instead of a champagne flute. He thanked her and chugged down the liquid, causing her to swallow a remark that she knew would not be appreciated on this auspicious day.

"So, what a day, huh?" he spoke once the bottle had been emptied. "God, I still can't believe I'm married now."

"Really? You do know that this all happened because you asked her to marry you, right?"

"Well, yeah, but I never _actually_ believed that this day would happen."

A crease formed in the middle of her forehead as she furrowed her brow in confusion. "What the hell did you think was going to happen? Did you think that she was going to run away screaming from the church when she saw you at the altar or something?"

"Or something."

Clare scoffed. "Jake, you've been with the woman for over four years with no breaks in between. That is a pretty amazing feat in this modern world if you ask me. So, I'd say that it was a pretty safe bet that she was going to say _yes_ when you proposed to her and an even safer bet that she was going to say _I do_ today."

"Yeah, I guess so." Jake shrugged. "I guess…I guess I've just been waiting for her to change her mind. I mean, look at this place. Eliza was _raised_ here. All of her life she's had money and everything that comes with it, including the great career that comes with the top notch schooling. I come from a middle class background and I am a professional landscaper who will probably cultivate the grounds of some building her family designs. There is no doubt in my mind, in anyone's mind, that Eliza took a huge step down when she chose me and it might just be a matter of time before she figures it out too."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you might be a dumb ass?"

"Leave it to you to call the groom a dumb ass on his wedding day."

"It's accepted when the groom is my stepbrother and talking like a moron. Did it ever occur to you that she's with you because in her mind, you are the best possible match for her? Did you even think that there might be a possibility that she thinks that she's not good enough for _you_ in the same way that you think you're not good enough for _her_. That she loves your idiotic ass and will continue to love your ass in the next forty years just like she's done in the last four?" Clare demanded, the words spewing out faster than her thought process.

"Damn it, Clare, I don't need a lecture. I just need—"

"—Reassurance?" she cut him off. "Well, while I'm over here reassuring you that your wife won't think she made a huge mistake on the honeymoon and leaves your butt, who's doing the same for her? Because don't you think that she might need the same reassurance that you're not going to disappear one day because you're suddenly tired of everything that comes along with sharing the life of an heiress? I hate to break it to you, Jake Martin, but you're not the easiest person to live with either."

Jake began to fiddle with his beer bottle, peeling and unpeeling the label with her words hanging heavily between them. "What if she wakes up one day and realizes that I was never the guy she was supposed to be with?"

Clare covered his hands with one of her own and her other hand came to rest on his shoulder. "And what if you do that very same thing? We're not teenagers anymore, Jake. We can't keep going to our friends with our fears about whatever the future may or may not hold. You have a _wife_, Jake, who you need to talk to when these worries arise because I can almost guarantee you that she's got those same worries. And if you don't stop talking to me and start talking to her, it's a definite possibility that you _will_ lose her."

"She's right, you know. You should listen to her." Their head simultaneously whipped around to find Owen Milligan standing three feet from them, dressed in a tailored navy blue suite and a wrapped package under one arm. "I know I'm more than fashionably late but I was still trying to figure out if I should come on the way here."

She was shocked into a stupor and could do nothing more than stare at her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now?—as he shifted from foot to foot. She vaguely felt Jake squeeze her hand and kiss her on the cheek before standing, watching as he walked over to Owen to shake his hand and retrieve the gift that Clare knew he had to of purchased on his own. After all, the one they had bought together was sitting on a table just inside the mansion and the fact that he had chosen to buy something without her not only shocked her but touched her heart as well.

"I didn't expect you to come," she said when she finally trusted her voice to speak.

"I didn't expect to be here."

"Then why did you?"

"I promised someone I'd be her date and I'd like to think I'm the type of guy who keeps his promises."

"Seeing as how you missed the ceremony and half of the reception, why don't you just consider this a promise kept and go on home, Owen?" Clare suggested hotly.

"I'd rather not." He took the few short steps that separated them and sat down in the seat that had been vacated by Jake. "We need to talk, Clare. I think it's time that we deal with all the unspoken garbage, don't you?"

She shook her head tiredly. "This isn't the time or the place. My stepbrother just got married and we're sitting in the middle of his reception. And I don't want to start another fight with you, especially not today of all days and in front of all these people."

"Then how about you just listen to what I have to say. And if you still want me to go after I'm done, I'll leave and you won't ever have to see me again," Owen ventured. Her breath caught in her throat at the realization that this could very well be the ending to the story that was them. "What could it hurt, Clare, when we're already not speaking? Things can't get any worse than they already are. We just might gain a little closure out of this."

"Owen, I—"

He held his hand up to officially cut her off. "You've already said everything that you needed to say. I just wasn't listening that day. Call it my Neanderthal tendencies overriding my basic human logic. I lashed out and I'm sorry for it. I'm also sorry that it's taken me this long to apologize when I should've been on my knees the moment you walked out the door."

Clare felt the muscles in her stomach tighten and her eyes begin to burn as tears welled up. "I don't understand. Owen, there's been nothing but the minimal amount of words between us for three weeks. Suddenly, without any type of warning, you're here spilling your guts out. Did you hit your head or something? Should I be calling a doctor? The man sitting in front of me saying all of this cannot the same man who was screaming at me in our apartment. So, what exactly changed to cause this huge epiphany?"

"Someone that I used to know sent me a letter yesterday along with the prologue of his new book. It was some pretty life-altering stuff," Owen replied.

"I'm going to _kill_ Eli," she grumbled.

"And leave a kid without a dad? That seems kind of harsh," Owen joked. He chuckled softly until one glance at her face proved that she was not amused. "Clare, you should really thank the man because I don't know if I would be here if it wasn't for what I read."

Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowed and whatever tears that had be threatening to fall dried up quicker than rain in the desert. "So, I try to have this conversation for weeks and you ignore me. But my ex-boyfriend sends you a letter and you're all of a sudden ready to work things out? You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Owen shrugged. "It's one thing for your girlfriend to tell you that the past is the past. It's another thing entirely when said past tells you the same thing. I guess that I needed to hear it directly from his side that what you had together is no longer a factor in the present before I could let myself truly believe it."

"You really are a dumb ass, aren't you?"

He laughed and nodded his head. "Honey, sadly, most men are when it comes to things like this. But let me ask you something. If the shoe was on the other foot and it was Anya in this situation instead of Eli, wouldn't you have reacted the same way?"

A vision of the girl that Clare had only known as her best friend's brother's girlfriend flashed before her eyes. Chocolate brown hair and blue gray eyes, Anya MacPherson had been the very personification of the girl next door. With her classic beauty and sweet temperament, the girl had turned more than one head during her time at Degrassi. And there was no other head that was turned more than that of Owen, Clare remembered, even though they had one of the shortest romances in the school's history.

Would she have been okay if the tables had been turned and it was Anya coming to Owen for help? Even though they weren't together for very long, she knew that the girl had made quite an impact on the man sitting beside her. Would she have been able to deal with her entrance into their lives like Clare was asking him to deal with Eli? Or would she be the one sitting here asking for forgiveness because it was _she_ who went off the proverbial handle?

"If it was Anya…if she was to come to you for help," Clare paused, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. She dropped her gaze to the table and shook her head in the negative. "I'd like to think I wouldn't be bothered but I think I'd feel the urge to rip her hair out. And now I feel thoroughly disgusted with myself."

Owen smiled at her response, placing a hand on her cheek and forcing her to look at him again. "Clare, you're right. I am a dumb ass." She laughed. "If you want to work with Eli, I'm not going to try to stop you. You were right, this is a huge opportunity for the both of you and I know that you'll end up hating me if I try to force you to quit. I can't have the woman I love hating me."

"But what about everything you said before? I can't change my past, Owen. And I can't have you going off the deep end assuming we eloped if we wind up working late one day," Clare pointed out.

"Those are my issues and I need to work on them. They have nothing to do with you and I'm sorry I acted like they did."

"So, you're really okay with us working together? I mean—"

"Clare, I'm okay with it. No more doubts, okay?" She hesitated a moment, biting her bottom lip thoughtfully, before nodding. "Good. Now, will you please come home? I miss you."

"You do?" Owen nodded. "I miss you too. We can pack my things tonight."

Owen drew her onto his lap, feeling a lump form in his throat when he felt the wetness of her tears hit his neck. They still had more issues to sift through and while he was only about seventy percent okay with his girl working with her ex, he no longer had any doubts that they _would_ work everything out because the woman he loved was once again enveloped in his arms. She was his again and all was slowly becoming right in his world once again.

When she whispered _I love you_ softly in his ear so only he could hear, the realization that Eli never stood a chance cemented itself in his mind. Despite the fact that Clare had once thought them to be soul mates, the other man didn't actually know the woman currently sitting in his lap. Eli had known and loved the girl that remained only in the shadows of who the woman was now. If Clare had met Eli now instead of then, she probably never would have given him a second look just like she had never given Owen a second look back when she was fifteen.

And it was that realization that made him feel more secure in his relationship than any platitudes that Eli could offer or reassurances that Clare could give him.

**-O – C-**

_Day One Thousand Three Hundred Thirty-Seven_

Five weeks Clare had been back in his apartment and they had agreed to start fresh on a clean slate. Five weeks it had been since he had read that letter from Eli and realized that his pettiness was about to cost him the best thing that had ever happened to him. Five weeks have gone by since he agreed that the best thing for all involved was if Clare continued her working relationship with the man who had once broken her heart, as long as all parties involved remained open and honest about it at all times no matter what.

Five weeks and now he was setting in a Thai restaurant beside his girlfriend, waiting for said man to arrive and join them for a dinner that was going to be more than a little awkward. And he had his own lack of plans to thank for that since spring break equated to doing nothing as much to students as it did to the ones that taught them.

Well, that and he was less than proud to admit that he might be more than a little whipped by his girlfriend.

"_Eli wants to take us out to dinner tonight," Clare had announced upon walking in the door that afternoon. She kissed him briefly before hanging her purse on the back of a chair and stripping off her denim jacket, toeing off her sandals as she made her way to the half-filled coffee pot to pour a cup of the dark liquid. "I told him that it should be fine since we didn't have any plans."_

_The newspaper he had been reading when she entered lay forgotten as Owen turned to stare at this girlfriend who was leaning nonchalantly against a counter, nursing a steaming cup of the brew that he knew had been doctored with two sugars and a splash of French vanilla creamer. "I didn't know he was in town. I thought that your next face-to-face was next month when he finishes the last couple chapters of the book."_

"_Yeah, it is. That's not actually why he flying in."_

_Just because Owen was finally secure enough in his relationship to not be bothered by their work relationship, he found himself more than a little disturbed that Eli was flying into town for a reason that had every possibility of being personal. "And why is that?" he asked, trying to keep the question casual as to not raise any red flags with Clare. The last thing he needed was to start a fight that could very well end up like the blow out they had two months prior._

"_Daphne is coming with him."_

"_Daphne?"_

_Clare nodded. "The doctor finally gave her clearance to fly and I guess she has family all over Canada and the States. She wants to meet us on her way to Boston to visit her aunt."_

"_You mean she wants to meet you to check out the woman who been working with her husband."_

_She smiled and shook her head. "Not just me, she wants to meet you too."_

"_Why? I have nothing to do with whatever you two are doing."_

"_You can't really think that." She placed her mug behind her as she pushed off of the counter, walking over to where he was sitting and placing herself square on his lap. One hand came up to rest on his shoulder while the other touched his cheek, her thumb stroking the stubble there, leaving him to loosely band his arms around her waist. "This whole thing is about you."_

"_I'm sure Eli is going to be thrilled to hear that."_

"_It's not like he doesn't already know, Owen. Without you, there wouldn't be us and there wouldn't be a story without us. And even if the story wasn't about us, I would still be working with him because doing so means so much more for our future than I think you even realize," Clare explained. "I once dreamed of being a journalist then I dreamed of running my own publication. Those dreams took me away from you. But now I have a new dream. One that involves staying here with you, doing something that I absolutely love that will never take me away from this life we've created together."_

_Owen cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the emotional turn their conversation had clearly taken. "So, what time should I be ready?"_

"_Eli set the reservation for seven so we'll probably head out around six thirty." There was something akin to uncertainty in her crystal eyes. "Owen, you know I meant every word of what I just said, right?"_

_He leaned forward to gently touch his lips to hers, moving a hand up to tuck a curl that had strayed from her ponytail behind an ear. "I know. And I'm not always good at telling you what I'm feeling. But I hope you know that I love you, no matter what, even if I don't always say it."_

"_I know. I love you too."_

It was that love that had him sitting in one of the nicer restaurants in the immediate vicinity of their apartment, dressed in a pair of khakis and a sweater that Clare had purchased the week before for dinner with their parents. Clare sat beside him in the same dress she had worn for her stepbrother's wedding with a sweater borrowed from Alli, her hair a mess of curls that had his hand itching with the urge to tangle his fingers in them so completely that it would take hours to free them. He wanted nothing more than for the blissfully wedded couple to arrive and get this dinner over with so that he could whisk Clare back to their apartment for a more private evening together.

Owen's prayers were answered when the man of the hour arrived not five minutes later, dressed in a collared shirt and jeans with his trademarked leather jacket. An obviously pregnant brunette wearing a simple sundress followed closely behind with her hand securely fastened to her husband's, both wearing smiles so wide that the room seemed to brighten upon their entrance. He stood with Clare to greet the newcomers, exchanging simple pleasantries before taking their seats once again opposite of the couple.

As the couple and his girlfriend conversed, Owen chose to remain quiet and study the woman who was a stranger to Clare and himself. The news of their marriage had had Owen thinking the man was moronic for letting Clare go when the news first broke. However, it was easy to see now why Eli had married this woman instead of returning to his so-called soul mate for the hundredth time. A waifish woman with pale skin, dark hair and even darker eyes complimented the brooding appearance of the author in a way that Clare Edwards never did. The button nose and bow lips that encompassed her heart-shaped face gave her the docile guise of the type of woman that men had fought wars both for and over throughout centuries.

And the smile she directed in Eli's direction made the world believe that he was the keeper of all the secrets the universe had to offer.

"So, Owen, Eli tells me that you teach at the school you all attended," Daphne said, her voice soft, lilting and almost musical in nature. "Did you always want to be a teacher like these two always wanted to write?"

The mouthful of the beer he was drinking got caught in his throat and he sputtered, shaking his head in the negative. "No, I can't say that I did. I didn't actually know what I wanted to do and ended up working as an entry level peon for numerous years after college. Our old principal actually approached me with the position when I decided that being a peon wasn't enough for me."

"Owen wanted to be the next great hockey star. He was amazing on the ice back then," Clare said, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"Back then? Apparently my girlfriend isn't as observant as she likes us to believe because she should know I'm still pretty amazing on the ice."

"He thinks so anyway."

The couple snickered at the way she teased him and the mock offended expression on his face. "What my girlfriend fails to remember is that she knows less than about sports than I know about her classic novels. Maybe if she came to a game or two with me, she'd actually have the qualifications to judge."

"Okay, honey, if you say so." She grasped her wine glass and was about to take a sip when he poked her in the side, causing her to jump and the wine to slosh from side to side. "All right, I'll go to more hockey games if you come to more book signings with me."

Owen narrowed his eyes and stuck out a hand for her to shake. "It's a deal. So what about you and Eli, Daphne? Clare told me that you met through his publisher."

"We did. You see, my family runs a literary agency and even though I'm just part of the legal team, I'm still expected to go to every function that they sponsor. Eli was part of a gala that his publisher was sponsoring for their burgeoning new authors and since my family represented most of them, including Eli, I had to be there. I'm glad that I went because I don't think I'd have ever met Eli if I hadn't," Daphne explained.

Clare's blue eyes sparkled and Owen could practically see the cartoon hearts swimming in their depths. "It was love at first sight then?" she asked.

Daphne giggled, sharing another one of her secret smiles with Eli as he pulled her closer to him and kissed her on the temple. "God, no, I hated him. He was _so_ moody while he was writing that first book. He thought every word he wrote was gold and the Lord should help you if you thought differently. I was still the low man on the totem pole back then but I still remember how argumentative he got the day we had to draw up his final contracts. I'd never met anyone so dead set in his processes and so unwilling to change."

"So how did you end up together?" Owen asked.

"Oh, the age old story of boy meets girl, girl hates boy, and boy and girl get locked in a building after hours," Eli replied. "I had her agreeing to a date by morning."

"And now you two are expecting a baby," Clare said with a grin on her face.

Owen found himself smiling at the story as well but he could not help the little voice in his head that spoke to matters more serious than the love story of Eli and Daphne Goldsworthy. "I hate to be the one that brings the party down but I've got to know why you wanted to meet us, Daphne. It can't just be because our significant others are working together."

"It's not. Eli has told me a lot about Clare and you and everything that he's writing about in his book. I must admit that I was bothered by Clare being in his life at first because he's told me everything there is to know about their relationship. But then he told me about you, about how much in love she is with you and I began to accept that the past is the past. Slowly, though, I might add," Daphne told them.

Another secret smile shared with her husband and Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the intimacy of it. "Anyway, I felt the need to get to know Clare so I decided to extend the hand of friendship by contacting her through e-mail without Eli knowing. Since then, we've been getting to know each other through e-mail and phone conversations to point that I now regard her as one of my closest friends. And because of that, and her history with Eli, I would like to ask if Clare would consider being the godmother to our first child. That's with your approval Owen, of course."

Owen glanced over at Clare and could tell that she was rendered speechless. He knew that she would turn down the offer if he told her to but the fact was, the baby deserved to have Clare in its life. She was the best part of him, the best part of a lot of people, and she would be the best part of their child as well. And maybe, one day, the best part of a child they shared.

He squeezed their still linked hands and gave her a short nod of approval.

"Eli, Daphne, I'm honored," Clare began. "I mean, this is a pretty awesome thing to be asked by anyone. But don't you have friends and family who are closer to you that would be better options."

"They would all probably jump at the chance but I don't want any of them."

"Daphne, you hardly know me."

"That may be true but I want my daughter to have a strong female presence in her life. Someone to look up to that has determination it takes to succeed in this life. And I want her to have someone who knows true love who isn't her parents because she'll be a teenager one of these days and teenagers don't listen to their mothers when their hearts get broken," Daphne replied.

"Okay then, I would be honored to be your daughter's godmother. I just hope I live up to those high standards."

"You will."

The two couples raised a glass to celebrate Clare's new title and the impending birth of the child that would forever keep them intertwined.

_**To Be Continued…**_


End file.
